Coming Back to You
by The Midnight Fox
Summary: "I will always find you." Uncas promised at the end. But was it a promise that he could keep? Lyric Harris dreams of a man making this promise as the civil war threatens to tear Louisiana apart. Caleb, a Union soldier, dreams of making such a promise to someone he has never met before. As past and present collide, so too will they, even if they lose themselves in the process.
1. Chapter 1

Coming Back to You

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 **I own nothing but the characters I make up, everyone else belongs to whoever holds the rights to the Last of The Mohican's publication. I also make no money from this so please don't sue me**

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" _I looked for you in everyone_

 _and they called me on that too_

 _I lived alone but I was only_

 _coming back to you"-Coming back to you, The Once_

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 **Prologue**

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Alice was drowning.

She crashed into dark, startlingly cold water that twisted and churned all around her. It tossed her this way and that, like a rag doll thrown between the hands of overzealous children. How strange, she thought, that she should find herself submerged in water when she had leapt from a cliff that ended in flat, smooth rock. She had seen the stones rising up to meet her, she had been resigned, content even, in her choice. Now, in place of the pain and subsequent nothingness she had expected to feel, there was only liquid blackness.

Alice's lungs burned with the need for oxygen. She kicked madly for the surface, panicked by the knowledge that she didn't know where she was or how she had gotten there. She didn't know if there would be land nearby if she reached the surface or if there was even a 'surface' at all. All she knew was that she had gone from being prepared to die in one second to fighting for her life in the next.

Ultimately, she lost the battle with holding her breath. Instinct took over, forcing her to open her mouth. Water flooded in, choking her, causing her eyes to bulge in distress. She reached up a hand, hoping, praying, that the surface was near. She could have cried in relief when her hand broke through and cold air rushed against her searching fingers.

Alice struggled to pull the rest of her body up but she was sluggish with the need for air. Her legs no longer kicked as strongly, her limbs were growing heavy. Was this how it was going to end, not by a fall but by drowning? She was just beginning to sink below the waves again when a hand shot out of nowhere and took hold of hers tightly. She was aware of long fingers wrapping around her wrist and a strong arm tugging her upwards. She was propelled, none too gently, up onto a hard, slick surface. Sputtering and coughing followed and the hand thumped her back hard.

Alice gagged, retching up water onto the rocks beneath her splayed fingers. She dug her nails into sparse moss, barely holding herself up on trembling arms. Slowly, she became aware of a dark face peering worriedly into hers. Tears filled her eyes when she turned her head and took in the healthy and unbutchered visage of Uncas, the first and _only_ man she had ever loved.

Uncas…" she rasped, his name disappearing in another bout of coughing. She yearned to throw her arms around him, to hold him close and never let him go, but her exhausted body refused to heed her. Instead, she slumped and he caught her before she cracked her head open on the wet rocks.

"Shhhhhhhhh," his voice soothed as he lowered her to the ground gently, "I'm right here."

Alice took another shuddering breath as he rubbed her back, waiting patiently while she finished spitting out water. It seemed to go on forever but finally the awful coughing and retching ceased. She laid her cheek against the damp stones, weak and utterly exhausted.

"Hurts…" she moaned.

"I know." His deep voice responded, solemnly.

"Where…?" she tried to ask.

"I have no idea." Came his quiet reply.

Alice tried to lift her head enough to glance around but a wave of dizziness overcame her and she laid it back down again. She couldn't see much of anything in the dark except that it was night and that it was raining. Beyond that, not much else. After a moment or two, she became aware of a bright light gliding silently overhead. Alice thought she was imagining it at first but then it glided over again. The light was ghostly but bright enough to draw her attention. She pulled her eyebrows together, puzzled as it went over a third time.

"What is that?" She asked roughly, whispering around the pain in her throat.

"I don't know." Uncas answered, his arm stiffening slightly where his hand rested on her back. "It's a light of some sort. I saw it from the water and swam toward it. It looks like it's attached to a structure but I'm not sure what it is."

"Could you describe it for me?" She requested tiredly, unable to sit up and look for herself.

"Well, its tall, cylindrical, and it has a light that spins at the top." He supplied, sounding distrustful despite his assertion that it had led him to land.

"A lighthouse?" Alice guessed, surprised.

"What is a 'Light House'?" Uncas asked confusedly, spacing out the two words and saying them slowly. Alice smiled a little, remembering that the colonies were young and that, growing up in the wilderness as he had, he had likely never seen one.

"They help ships find shore." She explained, raggedly.

"Well, it helped me find shore so it served it's purpose, I suppose." He commented wryly.

"How did we end up here?" She asked. "How are we completely uninjured."

"Your guess is as good as mine," He answered, "One minute I was falling and bleeding out, and the next I was in the water without a mark on me."

"Do think this is... purgatory?" She asked, suddenly frightened.

"If it is then it's a lot colder and wetter than Reverend Wheelock led us to believe." Uncas mumbled thoughtfully. They were silent for a long moment before Uncas spoke again.

"What happened to you?" He asked quietly. "Did Magua-?"

"No." She cut him off before he could finish that thought. "No. I never gave him the opportunity."

There was no need to elaborate further and Uncas didn't ask for any details. Instead, he squeezed her shoulder before gently rolling her over so he could gaze down into her face.

"I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to save you." He said remorsefully.

"I'm sorry I simply wasn't strong _enough_." She countered. Uncas reached a hand down to cup her face, smiling at her warmly.

"You were always stronger than anyone gave you credit for." He corrected firmly.

Alice reached up a hand to cover the one on her face. She returned his smile, albeit a little sadly, before looking up to see the light pass over them again.

"We're truly dead, aren't we?" She said, framing her words like a question though she honestly wasn't expecting a response.

"Maybe," Uncas grunted, gathering her into his arms and holding her against his chest, "But I don't think so. Call me crazy but I think this is something else entirely."

"Limbo, perhaps?" Alice offered with a humorless little laugh. Uncas gave his own quiet chuckle before placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Well, if we really _are_ trapped in limbo at least we're trapped together." He replied warmly. "I could think of far worse fates."

Alice smiled as she relaxed against him. Cold and wet it might be in this odd 'between' space, but it was warm and safe in Uncas' arms. If this truly was to be their purgatory, then Alice thought she would be happy to stay right where she was forever. Together, they stared out over the water in companionable silence. All was quiet save for the lapping of the water against the rocks and the gentle patter of rain.

Feeling drowsy, Alice began to hum to herself, a little tune her nanny used to calm her when she was a young child. She hadn't thought about the lullabye in ages but, as they lounged there by the water, she began to sing quietly.

"Voices like songs that are heard in the dawn," She sang, eyes closed as she listened to the gentle fall of rain, "Medhel an gwyns, Medhel an gwyns."

"What?" Uncas interrupted, pulling back, she presumed, to look at her.

"Hmmmmm," she replied sleepily and then opened her eyes to smile at him, "Oh, it's just a lullabye my nanny used to sing."

"What do those words mean?" He asked as he played with a strand of her hair, twirling it between his fingers. "Metal and...gwen?"

"It's 'Medhel an Gwyns," she corrected him with a laugh, " and to answer your question, I have no idea what it means. Lyddie was from Cornwall and often sang local folk songs so-" Alice's story was brought to an abrupt end when there was a heavy splash of something hitting the water somewhere out in the darkness.

"What was that?" Alice gasped, feeling Uncas tense up next to her.

"Not sure." He replied, gently placing her back on the rocks. He stood up and squinted out into the dark, waiting for the light to come around again.

For a few moments there was nothing unusual, just the constant patter of raindrops on stone. Then they dimly became aware of something moving out in the darkness. Alice followed the line of Uncas gaze as the beacon momentarily lit up the water. Her blood ran cold and she gripped Uncas ankle in sudden fear.

Out of the waves, like some monster from a fairytale, came a figure she had hoped never to see again. Magua, wading through the water towards them, his scowling, painted face, or what she could see of it, like something out of a nightmare. Alice felt Uncas body tense again as he went to draw the knife from his belt, grunting in frustration when he discovered he had nothing.

"Be ready to run." He hissed warningly down at her.

Alice struggled up onto shaky knees and grabbed a tight hold of his arm.

"Uncas, no!" She cried. "You can't face him with brute force alone!"

"If I don't have a weapon then I doubt he has one either." He pointed out, his eyes never leaving the water.

"You don't know that!" Alice cried, casting a frightened glance at the figure who was drawing ever closer to shore. Uncas clenched his jaw but held his ground.

"Uncas, please!" She begged, "If he overpowers you then I will be trapped here... at _his_ mercy and I can't bear the thought of losing you again!

A range of emotions flitted over the Mohicans face as he considered what she was saying. She knew it hurt his pride to admit that Magua was the more seasoned warrior. She hated asking him to run but, unlike before, there was no chance of anyone coming to their rescue and they had nothing with which to fight him off. They were truly on their own.

Uncas took a few more heartbeats to consider their options before giving a curt nod. He grabbed her arm firmly and hauled her up. Moving quickly, he began leading them both away from the shore.

"Run!" He commanded firmly.

Alice tried but she was still sluggish from the near drowning. Uncas was forced to wrap an arm around her waist, half dragging her when she stumbled over driftwood and clumps of marsh grass. They fled as though demons were at their heels but there was only one demon here, Alice reminded herself, and it wasn't going to be long before he made it to shore.

The only visible place in which they could hide was the Lighthouse so the Lighthouse was where they went. Uncas led Alice around the side of it, looking for any opening and following the trail of light as it spun above them. After what felt like an eternity, they came to a door but when Uncas twisted the knob, it refused to yield. It wasn't so much locked as blocked by something on the other side.

"He's getting closer!" Alice warned, shooting a glance over her shoulder to see that the Huron was not only out of the water but halfway to the Lighthouse now.

In desperation, Uncas hit the door with his shoulder. One blow and nothing. A second blow and still nothing. On the third blow it was as if whatever was blocking the door decided to move. It swung inward, releasing a blinding, white light. They halted so suddenly that Alice nearly pitched forward into it. Uncas arms caught her and they stared in awe at the light spilling out towards them.

"Is it safe to go in there?" Alice asked, frightened to move forward but knowing that what lay behind them was infinitely worse.

"I don't think we have a choice." Uncas replied, his arms tightening around her.

"What if it takes us somewhere worse?" She whispered fearfully.

"Do you really believe anywhere could be worse than here." he responded. Alice conceded that he had a good point.

"Come, we must hurry!" Uncas said, urgently pulling her forward until they were right on the edge of stepping into that blinding light.

"What if we are separated?" she cried, looking into his face with a desperate expression. Again a myriad of emotions marched across his handsome features. Anger, fear, love. After a few seconds he pulled her in against him in a tight embrace.

"I will always find you." He promised raggedly before pulling back to stare down into her tear streaked face. He tried to give her a brave smile as he took one of her hands and pressed it against his chest, right over his heart.

"This is yours. It always has been and always will be." he told her with so much emotion that she let out a quiet sob.

"I love you." she whispered, tearfully.

He opened his mouth to return the sentiment but before he could Magua was upon them. Uncas leapt backwards with his arms still wrapped around her, tipping them both into the light. They tumbled into that white nothingness and, right before Uncas was ripped from her arms, Alice heard Magua's cry of rage echoing from somewhere far away.

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 **Author's note:**

 **Well, here it is guys, the prologue of the new and improved Coming Back To You. Hopefully, this version will go better than the old one. I've already deleted the original story and, after going back and re-reading it, I'm glad I did. It was a mess and I didn't take the time with the characters that I should have. Going back and revisiting them, I realized how much I actually liked this story and how much I wanted to finish it.**

 **Much like with Mine, I'm not sure how often updates will be. I have several chapters written and backlogged but I need to make sure they're flowing the way I want them to before I update again. Also, much like Mine, the POV will shift from chapter to chapter. Not every character in the story will get their own personal POV but at least 4 of them will at any given time.**

 **I also plan to add a line from a song to the beginning of each chapter that corresponds in some way with whats going on in the narrative. This one is a little different because it only has musical score associated with it. The lines that I put at the top come from the song that spawned this story in the first place so it seemed appropriate that I start the story with them. The lullabye that Alice sings is by Anne Dudly and from the tv series Poldark. It's written like an old Cornish folk song and was so hauntingly beautiful that I decided to incorporate it into my story.**

 **Most of the time, when I create a soundtrack for what I write, I try to put the songs in order I think they would play in a movie or a show. If you guys are curious what would be playing in the opening scene here then I will direct you to a piece of music called 'Hungry Face' by Mogwai. It, much like Medhel an Gwyns, is hauntingly lovely.**

 **A a special thanks I'm going to give a quick shout out to MohawkWoman who has been a ginormous help with Civil War era facts. I seriously could not write this without help from someone who knows what they're talking about. Thank you for reading little bits and pieces of this as I wrote them and offering insight into the world. (also for listening to me bitch about how long it was taking XD)**

 **As always, reviews are welcome and I hope you enjoy the new and improved version of Coming Back To You.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

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" _A still life is the last I will see you_

 _A painting of a panic attack"-Death Dream, Frightened Rabbit_

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Lyric shot out of sleep so quickly she nearly pitched off of the straw pallet beneath her. Adrenaline raced through her veins like wildfire. Her eyes flew wildly about the room but she found she recognized little of her surroundings. How had she come to be in this place; a small, crowded room resembling little more than a large square box? This was most decidedly not her bedroom! Where had the blue walls gone with their tiny gold flowers hidden amongst equally gold foliage? What met her eyes now was so old and rotted as to resemble driftwood. The walls were so pale and pitted that they were better suited to fire tinder.

There wasn't much inside of the decrepit structure either, save for a fireplace long since gone cold. Glancing around, she took note of other slumbering young women squashed and squirreled into every available corner. Slowly, almost painfully, recollection began to settle in, like flashes of lightning behind her eyes. Her father's death, expulsion from the Main House, her _Manman's_ …Lyric pushed that last thought away, mentally sweeping it back with her hands as they moved the sweaty curls from her eyes.

" _Lyric, Ki sa ki nan mal?_ " someone mumbled in sleepy Creole. Glancing to her right, she was met with a pair of concerned eyes. They blinked up at her in the darkness, the finely arched brows drawing together over soft hazel eyes.

"Did you have a nightmare?" The girl, Delphine, queried as she rubbed at those hazel eyes with the heel of her palm.

" _Mwen se amann, Delphine_." Lyric replied, gulping back the residual fear that was still making her heart race and her pulse pound at her temples. "I'm fine, really."

To give credence to the fib, she forced her lips into a reassuring smile.

"You go on back to sleep now."

Delphine returned the smile wanly, then rolled onto her side with a deep sigh. Lyric stared down at her sleeping back, guilt seeping through her to mingle with the residual terror. Before everything had fallen apart, Delphine had been her ladies maid. She too had slept in the Main House and had been, not privileged exactly, but infinitely more comfortable than she was now. When Lyric and her mother were banished to the Slave Quarters, Delphine had been expelled right along with them. Lyric wouldn't have blamed Delphine for hating her over the swift and merciless loss of position but she had remained a friend and confidant nonetheless.

 _I will always find you._

The words from the dream still echoed dimly at the back of her memory. Lyric pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against them, groaning in frustration. The blasted dreams had started not long after her mother's death. She could never recall much upon waking, save for the hazy outline of a man's face and the richness of his deep voice. She didn't know why she kept having them either. She could only assume that it was because of the stress and trauma of the past few weeks, the desire to be taken away from what had become a horrible situation.

The dream never changed; there was always a man, always a lighthouse, and always a promise. It always ended with the shadowy man promising to find her and then...nothing. She always woke up after that. Now, an all too familiar despondency was beginning to rise in her again and Lyric struggled to hold it at bay while she sat in that dark, cramped room that reeked of mildew and unwashed bodies. The odors mingled together, invading her nostrils and making her wrinkle her nose in distaste.

Lyric reminded herself that she should be grateful to have a roof over her head, leaky and tattered though it was. She should be grateful to be fed and clothed and have some form of employment. She knew she should _feel_ grateful for a great many things but, at that moment, all she felt was a vast, aching loneliness. For the first time in her life she was really and truly alone and she hated the despondency because of how weak it made her feel.

The men and women of the Slave Quarters were no strangers to separation and death, they dealt with it on a daily basis and handled it with far more aplomb than she felt she was capable of. As a 'recognized daughter' of a wealthy plantation owner, she had never known what it meant to be hungry, to not have anything that was truly yours.

Even food was a novelty now. Every slave cabin was given a ration at the beginning of the week which they had to make it last until they were given the next one. This week's ration was ground up cornmeal mixed with what was left from the pig they had slaughtered for her father's funeral. What they could mix together with it was tasteless and mushy but no one complained about what they received. There was no room for high expectations in this life, not when there was so little to go around as it was. It made Lyric feel guilty that, for so many years, these people had lived in such squalid conditions on the edge of the Bayou.

As a child, she had been aware that she and her mother were more privileged than the other people of color on the plantation. That they were lucky not to have to work in the sweltering heat of the cane fields or reside in the crowded shacks behind the house. She knew that it was because of their relationship to the Master that life was different for them but she had never let it _in_. The reality of what life was really like for a person of color was quite a shock to her system.

How ironic, she realized, that she should feel just as out of place in the Slave Quarters as she had in the Main House. Had she ever truly fit in anywhere, she wondered? Certainly never with her gentry born half sisters with their carefully crafted manners and pale, translucent skin. No, _her_ appearance was too Creole to attend the balls and Cotillions the wealthy girls her age were accustomed to.

Regardless, she knew her father had intended to make some kind of life for her. He had seen to it that she was educated, that she could read and write. He had made sure she was tutored in arithmetic, history, music and dance. He even made sure she could speak French and spanish fluently, along with her mother's native Haitian Creole. Lyric also suspected that he may also have been scouting potential husbands for her before he left to fight in the war but she would never know now. None of those things seemed to make a difference anymore.

Her education meant very little without her father to speak for her and memories of the kind and indulgent _papa_ who had raised her flooded in, whether she wanted them too or not. Chief among them, unfortunately, being his death.

John Harris, at the age of 55, had been too old to fight for the Confederacy. He had been better suited to fine dining and attending the theatre than toting heavy artillery through the swamps. He certainly had no business stomping his way through the wilderness in the heat of the Louisiana sun. All the years of rich food combined with a sedentary lifestyle had swelled his joints with gout. Even Lyric's mother, a skilled herbalist in her own right, had been hard pressed to relieve his discomfort.

She tried to picture them again, in the warm parlor of their private quarters. Her father settling into his chair by the fire with his feet propped up on a footstool. Her _Manman_ rushing about the room, grabbing this and that while she fussed over him….

* * *

" _Bon mèt," Manman complained as she shuffled about, pouring a mixture of beet juice into a cup, "How many times I tell you to reduce all dat fancy meat you been eatin', huh?"_

" _Appearances must be upheld, Isadora," her father grunted as he struggled to remove his heavy boots. Lyric moved forward to help and he sighed in relief as his foot finally popped free of the too tight shoe._

" _Thank you, my girl." He groaned. Lyric took one of his feet in her hands and rubbed the painful lump on his big toe._

" _You need better shoes, Papa." She commented quietly. Manman banged around on her shelf, loudly, pulling herbs down as she searched for one specific ingredient._

" _You be no good to anyone, least of all us, if you up an' die." Manman scolded, her accent growing thicker in her agitation. She mumbled something in Haitian under her breath before adding a dash of herbs to the beet juice. Nodding, she walked over to push the cup into John's hands._

" _You drink dis all down, hear me!"_

" _Ugh, it tastes foul," her father complained around gulps, "like a steel fence."_

 _He tried to hand it back to her unfinished but a glare from Isadora had him pressing it to his lips once again. He downed the rest without further complaint._

" _You'll be tankin' me when all dat swellin' go down. No one said da remedy has to taste good." Her mother told him firmly._

" _Yes, yes," Papa said, waving her away and settling back to let the beet juice do its magic. Lyric rubbed his feet a bit longer and finally, after what felt like a long time, he began to relax._

" _Tell me about your day, Lyric girl," He said affectionately, "Did you learn a new piece?"_

" _We practiced more of the Beethoven today," she replied, smiling under his attention, "Shall I play some for you?"_

" _Don't be botherin' your father too much, Lyric," Her mother chided gently, "He need to rest if dat remedy gonta work."_

" _No one was ever bothered by a bit of music," Her father argued back good naturedly, smiling, "Why don't you play for us a bit?"_

 _Lyric looked up at her mother as though asking for permission and after a few minutes of debating, Isadora sighed and nodded her head. Lyric grinned as she hopped up to walk over to her Pianoforte where it sat gleaming in the corner._

" _I haven't learned all of it yet so you musn't be disappointed if I stumble a bit." She warned as she placed her hands on the keys._

" _Says da girl dat play several hours a day!" Her mother laughed, her eyes twinkling with love and affection. She settled on the stool her daughter had just vacated and smiled across the distance at her. She watched her parents link hands as they waited. She smiled back at them and then slowly, carefully, she began to play._

* * *

That was one of the last times they had all been together. Lyric wished she could bottle that moment to keep for all time; the image of her _Manman_ with her vivacious laugh that could brighten a room and her father with his proud smile and indulgent nature. Nothing remained now but ghosts in the shape of the two people she had loved most in the world. She felt their absence as strongly as she felt the rising humidity outside the cabin.

God, how Lyric wished she could return to those early days when things were simpler, if not better. She hadn't known then that she was about to lose her parents forever, that in a month's time both of them would be dead and buried. She could still remember, with vivid clarity, the day that everything changed. How she wished she could go back and warn her father, to beg him not to go to war.

* * *

" _I will not keep a husband who refuses to enlist!" Lissette Harris's voice rang shrilly from behind the closed office door. The harsh words stopped Lyric in her tracks, momentarily making her forget that her french tutor was waiting for her._

" _Be reasonable, Lissette," Papa's muffled voice came in reply, even through the door it was clear he was struggling to remain his composure, "I have no sons to protect Clarina and yourself in my absence. What happens if you find yourselves besieged by the Union? Who is to defend our home then?"_

" _I am already the laughingstock of Iberville Parish because I tolerate the presence of your paramour and her mongrel, "Mrs. Harris countered angrily, "I will not have it said that I am the wife of a coward as well!"_

" _You are treading on dangerously thin Ice, my dear." Her father replied flatly. Lyric came back down the stairs and moved closer to the door. She knew that tone, the one of barely controlled anger. He and Lissette had always quarreled, usually about Manman and herself, but this sounded different somehow. The tone was darker, more bitter than any she had heard before._

" _You will enlist or I will see to it that a pair of petticoats are delivered to your offices come Monday morning." Lissette told him flatly._

 _Lyric gasped and covered her mouth. If she followed through on her threat, it would show all his business partners that his own wife thought him a coward, essentially stating that he should wear the dress instead of her. She would make him a laughingstock she claimed he had made of her!_

" _You wouldn't dare!" Papa thundered back angrily._

" _You try me and see just what I'll 'dare', John!" Lissette clipped back before throwing the door wide and stalking out._

 _She was so angry that she didn't even see Lyric as she stomped by, which was probably a good thing. It would not have ended well for her if she were caught eavesdropping. Lyric watched the woman slam her way into the parlor across the hall, shaking the walls as she cracked the door shut behind her._

 _Sparing a glance into the office, she saw Papa sink down into his chair, a picture of anger and defeat. She wanted to go to him but knew that his pride would be too damaged to take her presence well. She watched his head fall against his folded hands as he gave a deep sigh. How she hated to leave him like that, stewing in his own juices. Unfortunately, she was already late for her lesson and would surely catch hell from Monsieur Gilliard as it was. With a heavy heart, Lyric climbed the stairs and wondered how this was going to affect everyone, particularly her mother and herself._

* * *

She found out soon enough. Lissette's threat had worked well. Her father had gone straight from his office to the enlisting site in town. As he said, he had no sons, so that harpy of a woman had browbeaten him into enlisting himself. It had been unsurprising, though no less painful, when they ultimately received the news of his death.

Lyric had fervently hoped he would be safe. A man of his age and position in the army could hardly be forced out onto the front lines. Indeed she would have been correct had his regiment not been overrun by the rebels. From what little she was told later, they had been caught early in the morning. The enemy had surprised them with a sneak attack on their camp. Her father had suffered a gunshot wound to the chest as he was exiting his tent and had died almost instantly.

Lyric could still hear her mother's agonized scream when they were told, followed by her fury as they were summarily removed from the house.

* * *

" _You cannot do dis!" Manman wailed as everything they owned in the world was carted out of the room._

" _I can do what I please with_ _ **my**_ _possessions." Mrs. Harris informed her coldly. "Everything John owned became mine upon his death, including everything in this room. You reside here now on my...charity."_

 _It was amazing that she could make the word 'charity' sound like a dirty word._

" _Mama, please!" Lissette's youngest daughter, Clarina, plead from the doorway. She had just returned home from a shift at the hospital and hadn't even changed out of her uniform yet. There was a bright streak of red across the front, which stood out in bright clarity against all that white. Lyric felt herself focusing on that red smear, unable to tear her eyes from it as the world around her fell apart._

" _This is cruelty!" Clarina persisted._

" _No, Clarina!" Mrs. Harris spat, rounding on her last born as though she were now an enemy. "Cruelty was the years your father spent educating that." She paused in her rant to point at Lyric who sat in utter shock at the pianoforte. "Cruelty was the years he forced me to endure his mistress living under our roof. This-" she gestured at the men who were collecting the furniture, "is merely justice!"_

" _Non!" Manman cried as two men tried to lift her father's heavy chair from its place by the fire. She all but threw herself on top of it, pinning it to the floor with her slight weight. She turned pleading eyes over her shoulder to face the stoney eyed woman behind her._

" _We have nothing left of him," her mother pled beseechingly, "Please don' take da only ting we have to remember him by."_

" _Everything you have, madam, is because I allowed it." Lissette replied in a voice as hard as steel. "It was a courtesy I extended for far too long."_

" _You cruel, despicable woman!" Manman hissed, dark eyes flashing with pain and anger. "I curse you! You have no sympathy for anyone, not even your poor dead husband."_

 _Lissette's face froze in a mask of anger but Lyric detected a hint of fear in her watery blue eyes. She would never admit that she was superstitious enough to credit Isadora's curse but Lyric knew that under all her finery she was probably sweating buckets._

 _Manman's skill in Hoodoo was well known, with servants whispering about it in all the grand houses of Iberville Parish. Even slaves gossiped and Mrs Harris would be well aware that if Isadora wanted to 'Cross' her then she was certainly capable of doing so._

" _I should have you kicked out into the streets!" Mrs Harris spat back coldly, suppressing her sudden fear under a layer of crafted gentile manners._

" _I should send you out to fend for yourselves in the stinking swamps," she continued bitingly, "but I am a good christian woman and a good mistress so, for the time being, I will allow to live here and_ _ **serve**_ _in this household."_

" _Mama, what are doing?" Clarina asked in a stunned voice. Mrs. Harris ignored her completely._

" _When you're done here," Lissette said, turning to the overseer, "make sure the mongrel and her whore mother are relocated to the Slave Quarters. They will be where they always should have been, with the rabble!"_

" _Mama!" Clarina gasped, her mouth falling open in horror._

" _See it done!" She commanded firmly. Then she exited the room in a rustle of taffeta, leaving the distinct odor of bitterness in her wake._

* * *

Their removal had been quick and efficient. They were deposited into the Slave Quarters by nightfall, no more than a few hours after they received news of her father's death. Her _Manman_ had gone from being a kept woman to scullery maid overnight and her descent into the hollow phantom of the woman she had been began that night. She took to starring in wretched silence as the world around her changed forever, only lasting a few weeks in the Slave Quarters before giving up completely.

It had happened on a night when Lyric was forced to leave her on her own for a few hours. Sickness had ripped through the area and the slave population had been hit the hardest. She and Delphine had spent many sleepless night, caring for the infirm. It was on one such sleepless night that _Manman_ had decided to take her own life.

Lyric didn't know how she had acquired the bottle of Opiates, though she assumed it was while she cleaned Lady Harris' room. The Mistress had suffered from terrible headaches for years. They would lay her up, sometimes for days. She had come to rely heavily on the many 'Miracle cures' that snake oil salesman peddled around town.

Lyric thought her mother would be alright by herself for those few hours. She did little more than sit in a chair by the fire anyway, looking lost and alone, not speaking even when her own daughter pled with her to eat something. She had been in the chair when Lyric left and the chair was where she expected to find her when she returned.

When she did finally return, exhausted and aching from being stooped over sick beds, she found her mother laying on her stomach by the fireplace, an empty bottle of 'Miracle Cure' dripping onto the floor by her head. Lyric choked back a sob at the memory of her mother's dead body, already cold and lifeless by the time she found her.

She squashed back the echo of her own voice as she screamed over and over again. She didn't even remember Delphine coming back to find her crying and rocking with her mother's lifeless form in her arms, or the Men who came to collect the body. There wasn't even a grave for her to visit, as her mother had been taken to be buried in the woods with other victims of the sickness outbreak.

For her father's funeral, at least, she had managed to sneak out long enough to sit on the steps of the church, listening and crying as the hymns sifted out through the thick oak doors. Lyric had even managed to follow at a discreet distance as the family traveled to the Cemetery. She had watched his burial from across the glen, saying a silent prayer under her breath as her sisters each laid a rose on his coffin. She left before anyone noticed her, walking home in despondent silence. She had gotten no such closure with her mother.

Now here she was, not the loved and protected daughter of the prominent John Harris. Just another Quadroon child to be discarded among the throng. It was hard to hold her head high when she had fallen so far.

Outside the sky brightened, turning from black to purple and finally to a rosy orange. Bird song replaced that of of frogs and insects and far off, a young alligator thrummed a call across the swamp to its mother. Soon enough, the heat would rise and the humidity would become unbearable. Soon, it would be time to head up to 'Breeze Knoll Plantation' and cook in the equally hot and muggy kitchen.

Forcing herself rise from the pallet, Lyric tried to shake off her sordid thoughts and the remnants of the bizarre dream. She tiptoed over to the corner where the chipped bowl and it's equally chipped pitcher resided. Pouring some water into it, she splashed it on her face and neck, telling herself that she would get through this nightmare somehow.

Next, she made her way over to the broken chunk of mirror that leaned cockeyed against the dirty window. Pulling her long, curly hair back away from her face, She peered into the reflective surface. Suddenly, she started, letting out a gasp.

Instead of a girl with coffee colored skin and honey colored eyes, a pale skinned, blue eyed girl gaped back at her. Gone were her dark, auburn tinted curls. Hair so pale it was almost silver had replaced them. She and the girl stared at one another until Lyric's eyes began to burn so painfully she had to grind the heel of her palms against them. When the discomfort finally passed she lowered her hands to discover the pale haired girl was gone. Her own dusky face blinked back at her.

"What in the world…" she exclaimed, reaching out to take hold of the piece of mirror. She turned it this way and that but there was nothing unusual to be seen. No matter which way she turned the thing, she couldn't get the image of the girl to return. Was she losing her senses completely?

The stirring of the other women, who mumbled and rubbed their eyes as they sat up, made her set the chunk of mirror back in its place. She was already an outsider with her history as a 'young lady' from the house, she didn't need to add 'looking for strange girls in the mirror' to the mix as well.

Instead, she busied herself by pulling a simple dress of checkered blue over her head, cinching it in at the waist to fit her slim figure. The dress, a hand me down from one of the other girls, was no more attractive than a burlap sack. She had accepted it without complaint, however, knowing she was lucky to have it at all. Despite her sadness at how much everything was turning on its head, she was trying to make the best of it, or so she told herself, as she pulled on a pair of worn leather shoes that were a size too small.

"Are you alright?" Delphine asked, startling her as she did the buttons up on the side of the shoes.

"I'm no worse for wear." Lyric replied evenly.

"Dreams again?" The girl queried.

"I'm always dreaming," Lyric responded with a sigh, "even when I'm awake."

Delphine gave her a quizzical face so Lyric shook her head and smiled. She didn't feel like talking about the odd incident with the mirror or the dreams. Delphine, like Lyrics mother, was a great believer in Hoodoo. She didn't need or want anyone taking it as a sign she was going to 'succeed her mother' or, at worst, that she had been 'crossed'. She had heard enough of that nonsense growing up and had no intention, nor interest, in becoming a practitioner.

" _Pa enkyete, Delphine_ ," She told her friend quietly, "I'll be fine. I'm just tired is all."

"I'm afraid dis life gonta be far diff'rent from what you accustomed to, Miss Lyric." Delphine warned mournfully, pulling on her own dress. Next she picked up a scarf to wrap in a tignon around her black curls. "As a free person of color you could leave dis place. The Mistress couldn't stop you none."

"What would I do, Delphine? Where would I go? I have no money until my inheritance comes through, _if_ it comes through, and even if I'm free, as you put it... I still _look_ colored. It narrows my options considerably."

"Why not go to New Orleans," Delphine suggested helpfully, "There be plenty of free Creole women der, and you be educated! Might be happier dan here, no?"

"Perhaps," Lyric mumbled as she climbed to her feet, "but until I have a way of _getting_ there, I'll have to make the best of it."

To that, her friend had no response. They finished dressing in silence, folding their hair into tignon's and pinning them up. Soon enough it was time to head for the house. Georgina would already be heating the fire for the households breakfast and if Lyric and Delphine weren't there to help prepare it they would never hear the end of it.

The group of women made their way out of the shack and up the dirt path before they had to branch off with one group going to work in the sugarcane and Lyric, Delphine, and a younger girl named Eulalie going to the Main House.

Breeze Knoll Plantation rose before them, a large, sprawling estate. It sat regally in the shimmering heat, all white corinthian columns and high windows. The group made their way to the side of house rather than the front, to the kitchen door that would keep anyone in residence from seeing them. Delphine rapped on it sharply and the head of the kitchen opened it to usher them inside.

" _Bonjou, Georgina_!" Lyric greeted and the older woman patted her cheek affectionately. She had known Lyric most of her life, watched her grow from a gangly little girl into a young woman. She didn't like how things had turned out for Isadora and her daughter but had no power to do anything other than teach Lyric how to run a kitchen. The hope was that she could make something of herself when she _did_ finally leave the property, even if it was only going from one form of servitude to another.

"You lookin' a might peaky, girl." The weathered old lady told her disapprovingly.

"She been keepin' us all up wit her nightmares again." Eulalie supplied tartly, brushing past Lyric to go peel potatoes. Lyric glared at her back in annoyance. Eulalie didn't like her and had no qualms about showing it. Lyric just tried to avoid her as much as possible.

"The Lighthouse one?" Georgina asked. Lyric nodded in reply. "Dreams are sometimes our links to da other side. Might be dat someone is sendin' you a message."

"Well, they're not doing a very good job then," Lyric replied sourly, "I can never remember anything when I wake up."

Striding over to the table where Georgina had laid out the recently risen bread, she took up a mound and began to slap and press it against the counter before folding it and starting the process over again. It was tedious but a necessary. At least it gave her something to do rather than sit around talking about her ridiculous dreams.

"Maybe you just ain't listenin'." Georgina scolded as she took up her own mound of dough. Lyric didn't answer, knowing where this conversation was headed. It was a conversation she didn't particularly want to have.

Instead, she focused on kneading the dough and on the little tune that had been niggling at the back of her mind since waking. She hummed as she worked, slapping at the dough as the tune rose and fell in her throat. As she and Georgina found their rhythm with slapping and kneading the bread, Lyric opened her mouth and began to sing.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **Well, here we are at chapter 1 of the story (Though this will appear as chapter two since the site doesn't let me mess with the numbering). I wasn't entirely expecting to get another chapter up this soon but I also wasn't finding much to edit and change anymore so I decided it was time. I would love to say that i'm going to update a chapter a week but as soon as I commit to that it won't happen so we'll just leave it for however quickly I get a chapter ready. XD**

 **This particular chapter (and probably the next as well) was visited by the Exposition Bunnies! I tried to break some of it up with flashbacks but the exposition had to be there so I can get the story rolling. I tried to be kinder to Lyrics father in this version than I was in the previous one. He actually got a little bit of development this time around. I think when I was writing him before, I was more focused on getting the chapters up than developing anything that was happening in the background. Because I'm taking more time with my story telling, I wanted him to be shown as a kind man, someone who loved his children but was rather weak willed when it came to the women in his life. He's bullied by both Lissette and Isadora but in very different ways and for different reasons.**

 **Also, I wanted to get a better feel for Lyrics 'fall from grace'. In the original story she had always lived in the Slave Quarters so none of the hardships were all that new to her. In this version, she lived in the main house until recently and is struggling to fit in. I tried to get across that she's not content with any of this but she also has nowhere else to go. She's trying to make the best of a bad situation but she feels very out of control of everything that's happening around and to her.**

 **The song I added at the beginning is Death Dream by Frightened Rabbit. Its about a suicide and since Lyric is still dealing with the death of her mother it seemed appropriate to open the chapter with it. Isadora's suicide is going to come up on and off as the story progresses and I like to think of Death Dream as her theme.**

 **As always, thank you for reading and for the Reviews. The next chapter will be a POV jump and hopefully I can get it up next week...it really depends on how i feel about what I've got written. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I will see you in the next one. Happy reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

* * *

" _I found a martyr in my bed tonight_

 _She stops my bones from wondering_

 _Just who I am, who I am, who I am_

 _Oh, Who am I?"-Fun, Some Nights_

* * *

Caleb came out of sleep abruptly, shouting something as he shot upright in his bed roll. He had been so deeply engrossed in dreams that there was some confusion as to where he was upon waking. His eyes flew wildly around what was obviously a tent and when recognition finally settled over him, he bent over with a groan, scrubbing at his face with his palms. He had had that god damned dream again, the lighthouse one. How many times was it going recur before this stupid war ended?

A few feet away, he heard his friend Gray shifting and groaning as he rolled over in his own bedroll. It was a few more seconds before the other man spoke and when he did, his voice was thick with interrupted sleep.

"Who the hell is Alice?" He asked around a yawn.

Caleb let out a sigh, peering blearily through his fingers at a man who was squinting at him from the opposite side of the tent. He looked irritated and Caleb couldn't really blame him, this was probably the third or fourth time in a _week_ that he had woken his friend up screaming. The dreams had become a common occurrence after they crossed the Louisiana border a few weeks back.

 _I will always find you_.

The words echoed in his ears like something shouted from the far end of a tunnel. Who was it he was supposed to be finding? He didn't even recall a face upon waking yet that promise haunted his waking hours, laying in wait for him to fall asleep so they could repeat all over again.

"Not a clue." Caleb muttered in response, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

"Lighthouse again?" Gray prodded, drowsily pushing his shaggy, blonde hair out of his eyes. He rolled onto his stomach to lean on his elbows, his chin resting on the pillow so he could blink at Caleb through startlingly blue eyes.

Caleb grunted an affirmation, rubbing the space between his eyes where a slight headache was forming. He, admittedly, was _not_ getting enough sleep and the dreams were only a small part of that. The Louisiana wilderness was loud, even at night, and the mosquitoes, who were out in full force a majority of the time, were murder. The nights were no picnic either, being too hot or too noisy. Either way one looked at it, falling asleep was a feat unto itself. The dreams just happened to be an unasked for extra.

"Remember anything this time?" Gray continued, yawning again.

No, he did not. The dream faded before Caleb could retain more than the Lighthouse and the girl.

"No," he replied thickly. "You said I mentioned a name?"

"If by mentionin' you mean yellin', then yeah." Gray responded tartly. "Don't you remember?"

"If I remembered I wouldn't be asking!" Caleb shot back curtly.

He hadn't told Gray the bit about promising to find the mystery woman. It was too strange and he didn't need his friend cracking jokes like: 'figures the only way you could get a woman is in your dreams'. He wasn't in the mood for that, not at all.

"Aw, go back to sleep!" Gray griped, shooting Caleb a petulant look before making an angry scoffing noise and rolling back over. He pulled the bed roll over his head and grumbled quietly to himself before settling back to sleep.

"Right." Caleb mumbled back, peering at the sunlight filtering in through the tent flap. "I'll get right on that."

He rubbed his neck and sighed before crawling over to lift the tent flap and blink out at the brightening morning sky. Caleb wondered, for the millionth time, what exactly he was doing there, what they hoped to accomplish on this mission in Morganza.

He knew that their main objective was to distract the Confederates from moving into Texas. The biggest problem, as far as Caleb could see, was that they were in a position that left them entirely too exposed. One would think that if you were fighting a war, you would at least bring an adequate map of the area you were to be stationed in. Lieutenant Colonel Leake had no such map.

To give the man credit, he had made a good defensive decision when he moved them from their untenable position at Norwood plantation. Shifting them instead, two miles up the road to Stirling farm. The problem was the confederates still had an easy way to move around their position. To make matters worse, most of their cavalry had been left behind at the top of the horseshoe bend. The end result was that their unit number was too small to successfully take on the rebels who had made their camp directly across the Atchafalaya.

With the Confederates becoming increasingly more visible, not a day went by without some minor picket or skirmish. Now, Lieutenant Herron was ill and ignoring all of Leake's requests to secure their rear. Seeing no chance of their being recalled, Leake had decide to cut a gap in the Levee on the east side of the road which would help to move the Artillery through in the event of a major attack. That would have been a great idea if there was enough manpower to move them, but with their man power cut in half, it just added another problem to the already growing pile.

God, how he was starting to regret his decision to join 'Lincoln's war'. All it had gained him was a scenic trip through the bug infested shit hole that was Louisiana. If he were lucky, the pickets that day would be minimal and he wouldn't have to trudge through the swamp with the mosquito's out in full force.

His mood now decidedly foul, Caleb re-rolled his bedroll and exited the tent, stretching and taking a deep breath of the thick morning air. The humidity was already on the rise. He had only been awake for a few minutes and already everything felt damp and muggy. What he wouldn't have given for the coolness of a september morning in Ohio. The state might have had little else with which to recommend itself but at least it's autumn mornings were cool. It never felt cool here, not even when it rained.

Sighing, Caleb made his way down the path that led to the main part of camp. It was early but a few members of his Unit were sitting around eating a breakfast that consisted of Hardtack crumpled up in Gruel. The stuff was unpalatable on its own but, unfortunately, it was something they had quite a lot of. A few of the men had gotten creative and starting mixing it in with bits of dried vegetables and salted pork, just to have a semblance of something different to eat. Others just chewed on it, wearing haunted and vacant expressions.

The men by the fire pit mumbled a good morning to him as he passed and Caleb gave them a wave in return, continuing on his way toward the properties small lake. He could do little to make himself feel human but washing up was a start. He wasn't stupid enough to wade out into open water though, knowing full well that there could be Alligators in them. They had already lost one man to an Alligator attack. He had wandered out early one morning, presumably to do what Caleb was doing now. At first, everyone assumed that he had deserted. Then they had found bits of him washed up on the river bank. No one else attempted bathing after that.

Upon reaching the lake, Caleb shed his dusty shirt and scanned the water to make sure nothing moved out there. Out on the other side of the water, its mouth open as it rested in the morning sun, was a medium sized gator. It paid no attention to Caleb but he, still feeling cautious, picked up a stick and swished it around in the water by the bank. Only when nothing jumped out to bite or slither away across the surface did he kneel down to cup the fluid in his hands.

Just that little bit of coolness splashing against his face was already the highlight of his day. He hadn't been able to bathe in god knew how long and was fairly certain he smelled awful. Perhaps the only good part about living in closed quarters with so many unwashed bodies is that one went nose blind after a while. Since he wasn't yet desperate enough to throw caution to the wind and submerge his entire body, he went halfway and stuck his head in the water, shaking the drops from his hair like a dog when he was done.

He should never have followed Gray on this fool's adventure. Caleb certainly wouldn't have made the grueling trek through the swamps of his own volition. If he were honest, he had done it for one specific reason; a desire to keep Gray from killing himself.

The man had had an angry streak since they were children. He was always geared up for a fuck or a fight, whichever presented itself first. Before the war, before Anna Marie, he had compensated with saloon brawls and the occasional prostitute. After his wife's sudden and untimely death, those had ceased to be enough. When he had gotten it into his head to enlist, Caleb had followed, in an continuing effort to keep his friend grounded.

 _Maybe you should just stop_ , a voice inside him said. _How long do you truly think you can protect him?_

He knew it wasn't that cut and dry. He and Gray had been together through some of the toughest moments of their lives. Which was odd considering they had started out as enemies. Caleb wondered what would have happened if he hadn't stepped in that day all those years ago. If he hadn't drawn Sister Bernadette's attention by doing something as simple as singing. It had earned him the whipping of his life, no doubt about it, but it also earned him his best friend. He could still hear the sound of the belt as she swung it, that little whistle of sound before it collided with flesh. She had always been heavy handed with that thing and Gray had been a good target with his disregard for the rules and lack of respect for authority.

One fateful day, when they were about twelve, the two of them had been dragged into her office for fighting. Caleb could still remember the sound her shoes made on that hard floor, the slow tap, tap,tap as she walked in a circle around them.

" _This is what happens when you come from illegitimate parents,_ " her sharp voice spat in his memory. He could still see her craggy face, the spectacles sliding down her long nose as she leaned menacingly over them.

" _Well, we'll beat the devil out of you yet, make no mistake!_ "

She had snatched Grey up first, hauling him up by the ear. That whistling had begun a few seconds later as she beat him mercilessly. Even years later, Caleb didn't know what made him do it. He just remembered feeling a strange resolve. He had closed his eyes and done the only thing he knew would get her attention, he sang. More specifically he sang in Choctaw.

His plan worked, perhaps a little too well, because the next thing he knew it was his flesh that was being lashed with the belt. If there was one rule the proprietors of 'Wheelock's Orphanage' upheld it was that none of them were allowed to speak in their Native tongue. Breaking that rule was met with swift retribution and justice was often dealt with the business end of a belt. Caleb knew this but he had done it anyway. Sister Bernadette had hit him so hard that he eventually passed out from the pain. When he had woken up, several hours later, it was to see Grey's blue eyes peering down at him.

" _Why'd you do it?"_ the younger version of Gray asked.

" ' _Cause you didn't deserve what she was doin'."_ He heard himself replying.

" _What was all that gibberish you was sayin' anyway?"_ Gray had asked curiously. Caleb remembered smiling and then wincing because it hurt.

" _It was a lullabye my mother used to sing."_

That was it, that was all it took. Gray had laughed uproariously and they had been the best of friends ever since. He was the closest thing Caleb had to a brother, it had only been the two of them until Anna Marie came along. They had gotten into trouble together and out of it just the same. They had chased girls and had their hearts handed to them but then Gray's wife had died and the man had fallen apart.

" _He's gonna need you if I don't make it,_ " Anna Marie's weak voice said in his memory, " _You need to make him keep his feet on the ground_."

Anna Marie's waxen, pain-filled face still haunted him even six months later. She had been strong before the complications of childbirth had destroyed her. She had been a match for Gray in almost every sense, quieting his demons with a mere touch of her hand. Her death had killed something in him that Caleb wasn't sure he would ever get back.

" _I'll keep him grounded,"_ he had promised her, " _I won't let him spiral out of control but you're not gonna die from this, Anna! You're not gonna let it beat you!"_

She hadn't responded to that, only doubled up in pain as another contraction overtook her. He had seen it in her eyes, the knowledge that she wasn't going to pull through. Gray was not the only one that lost her that day, Anna Marie had been as much Caleb's friend as Gray was. More than anything else she had accepted him as he was. He hadn't been the 'stupid injun' that Gray associated with to her.

" _Don't you spiral none either, you hear?_ " Anna Marie commanded. " _Don't you lose yourself too._ "

It was a hard promise to keep, looking at the situation now. Anna Marie had died several hours later, after giving birth to a stillborn girl. God, how Gray had screamed and raged at the loss of them both. Caleb had held him until the rage abated, until the need to destroy everything around him had quieted. Then they both had cried, weeping to lose someone who had been so pivotal in their lives. There would never be another like her, not for Gray...probably not for Caleb either.

Now, the violence of the war was taking its toll on them. It just dragged on and on without end. Caleb had to wonder if they would survive it at all. The stress and fatigue of constant travel was catching up to both Gray and himself. They'd been lucky enough with the battles they'd been involved in, as they were only small scrimmages, but even those had been the stuff of nightmares. If Caleb could live out the rest of his days without ever hearing the dying cries of bayoneted men again he would consider himself lucky.

Splashing some more cool water against his chest and underarms, He caught a brief glimpse of his reflection in the water as the sun rose high enough to hit the surface. For some inexplicable reason, he didn't recognize the face that was staring back at him. It was too long, too angular and his hair...had his hair really grown that long? Leaning in close, Caleb raised a hand to touch his face, squinting at a man that both was, and was not, himself.

Suddenly, the flesh on both his forearms, as well as the skin across his chest, began to burn. He hissed, shaking the limbs and raising his hands up to see what had caused the sudden, shooting pain. There were no red marks on the skin from a bite or a stinger. Caleb turned his wrists this way and that, studying them and frowning in confusion.

He felt his chest next, where the burning sensation had also occurred, and leaned over the water to see if there was anything obvious there. Again, nothing and though the flesh no longer pained him he couldn't account for what might have caused it in the first place. What kind of stinging insect left no mark behind?

Caleb also noted that his own familiar features were reflected back at him again. The same oval shaped face, same wide mouth and broad nose. His hair, which _had_ grown longer, certainly long enough to fall into his eyes and brush his shoulders, was not as long as what he had seen before. Caleb felt that he had always looked unfailingly Choctaw so whoever he had seen in the water could not have been himself. Was he was starting to lose his mind like some of the men back at camp? Was this was just the beginning of the hallucinations and the night terrors? Was he going to end up carted off to some hospital where he would be strapped to a bed while he yelled at nothing? It was not an eventuality that he wanted to think about.

As Caleb frowned at his reflection, he slowly became aware of a sound, something melodic and rich, riding in on the breeze.

" _Memories like voices that call on the wind,_ " a soft voice was singing, " _Medhel an gwyns, Medhel an gwyns..._ "

He looked from side to side, trying to find the source of the song. They were camped in and around the grounds of a Plantation so it wasn't inconceivable that someone at the house was the source of the voice. What was so odd was not the voice itself but the fact that he could hear it as clearly as if the person were standing right next to him.

" _Whispered and tossed on the tide coming in..._ "

"Hello?" he called, standing up to peer at the house. There was no reply except the call of a bird and no one moved in the Plantations tall windows. In fact, all the windows were closed and shuttered. The singing couldn't possibly be coming from that direction.

" _Medhel an gwyns_ ," the beautiful voice continued sweetly, so rich and close that he felt like he could have wrapped it around himself like a blanket, " _Medhel an gwyns…_ "

"Where are you?" Caleb muttered, pulling his shirt back over his head. He frowned as he made his way back up the path toward the house and camp. The singing voice trailed him as he went, he could still hear it as he walked over to where the men he had seen earlier were finishing their breakfast. It continued as he settled himself onto a fallen log by the fire pit.

"Care for some jerky, Caleb?" one of them offered, holding out a bit of dried and salted pork.

"No, thanks!" He replied, waving the food away.

" _Lovers and children and copper and tin…_ " the voice continued serenely.

Caleb glanced around at the grizzled faces of his Unit mates who appeared completely oblivious to haunting voice. He waited a few seconds to see if anyone would comment on it before opening his mouth to speak.

"Where do you think that's coming from?"

As he spoke he took a tin cup off of his belt and looked over at the shiny Mucket of coffee waiting for him on the fire pit. It was a definite boon to have access to coffee again, the only bright spot in this neverending nightmare. The men paused in their conversation to blink over at him.

"Where is _what_ coming from?" Asked a man they called 'Smalls'.

"The singing. It's clear as a bell." Caleb replied as he rose to help himself to the glory that was a morning 'nerve tonic' for all of them.

"I don't hear any singing." Smalls told him, though he did indulge Caleb by looking around for what he might be hearing. " I can hear a Gator calling, that what you mean?"

"No, no, the singing!" He insisted, shaking his head. He carefully lifted the Mucket of hot water from the old, plundered fence rail set over the fire pit. He poured the steaming, black liquid into his cup and sighed as the smell rose up to invade his nostrils.

"I could hear it even down by the lake."

" _Uh_ , there ain't no one singin' out here, Caleb." An older man, George, informed him quietly.

"Yes, there is," Caleb argued, still clearly able to make out the pleasant rise and fall of her voice, "It's a woman singing a folk song. Maybe there's a church nearby or something."

"I don't hear anything but birds, maybe that's what it is?" A man they all referred to as 'The Rabbi' offered helpfully. His real name was Saul and he was a Jewish banker from Boston but that was all anyone knew about him. He was the reticent type, helpful, but not inclined to share any personal information.

"You ok, there son?" The last man, known only as Dusty, queried. "It's been a long trek, you sure you ain't crackin' under the pressure?"

"No, I know I heard it." Caleb insisted as he set the Mucket back in place. He strained his ears to try and catch it again but it was gone, stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The absence of the voice left Caleb feeling frustrated and stumped.

"At least I thought I did." he added lamely. "I can't hear it anymore."

"This war has been hell on all of us." The Rabbi said kindly, "We probably all want to hear normal things like singing again."

George and Dusty nodded their agreement.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Redman!" Smalls grinned, clapping Caleb's shoulder and using the nickname he had been saddled with from day one. Being the only Indian in the unit, he had been subjected to far worse during training than a colorful nickname. At least now they used it with good humor.

"All of us have heard strange things out here and The Rabbi has a point about all 'o us missin' home. There are worst things to hallucinate than a pretty girl singin', am I right?" He asked the group. They all nodded and mumbled their agreement.

"Yeah." Caleb muttered back, still unconvinced. He drank the remainder of his coffee in solemn silence.

He let the issue of the singing girl go but that didn't mean he forgot about it. In fact, he had the song she had been singing stuck in his head for the remainder of the morning. He wasn't even aware he was singing it until Gray interrupted him during a random patrol.

"You're sayin' that wrong." His friend commented offhandedly, squinting out into the sugarcane fields.

"What's that?" Caleb replied, startled out of his reverie.

"That song you been hummin'," Gray said, "For one thing it's 'Medhel An Gwyns' not 'Metal on gwen' and you can't carry a tune to save your life! It goes somethin' like this…"

Gray opened his mouth and the song from earlier poured out in the most amazing baritone Caleb had ever heard. A little known fact about Gray was that he could sing and he could do it well. After the death of his wife and child, Caleb thought the music had been silenced forever. He listened in awe as the man delivered a beautiful stanza of the strange song.

"It's an old Cornish lullabye," Gray explained when he was finished, "my Gran used to sing it before...well, you know."

He did know. Gray's entire family had been massacred by Indians when he was a young child. It was part of the reason he and Caleb hadn't gotten along in those early days. His friend didn't talk about it much and when he did he was usually drunk. Caleb knew enough not to push him for any further details.

"Cornish?" Caleb mumbled, astounded. "Huh. I thought maybe it was a slave song or something."

"Nope," His friend drawled before giving a small shrug, "It's an old dialect. I think it means 'soft is the wind' or some shit. I dunno, it's been years since I heard it so I can't remember. Where the hell did _you_ hear it anyway?"

"Down by the lake. I tried to find the source but it had stopped by the time I reached the house. It was strange too because it sounded like it was coming from right next to me." Caleb explained, still feeling perplexed.

"Maybe it's that Alice you was screamin' about this morning." Gray teased, giving him a wolfish grin.

"Har har." Caleb responded dryly.

"Seriously though," Gray continued, all mirth gone, "You don't think it a bit odd that you start havin' these dreams and then all of a sudden you hear a girl singin'? You're either haunted or you're losin' your mind!"

Caleb didn't have a ready response for that. Neither felt like a very good option if he were honest. Still, Gray did have a point and he _did_ find it odd that the dreams and the singing girl were coming up on each other's heels. Who was this 'Alice'? Was she the singing girl? He didn't even know where to begin looking for answers to those questions.

Suddenly, the cracking sounds of gunshots erupted from the direction of the horseshoe road, drawing both men's attention and interrupting their conversation.

"Oop! Scrimmage time!" Gray declared, sounding almost gleeful with the possibility of something to shoot at.

He grabbed up his rifle while Caleb brought up the rear, making his way quickly toward the sound of gunfire. As he reloaded his pistol and prepared for another battle, Caleb left the mystery of the girl behind him, something to try to unravel at a later date. He followed his friend into battle and hoped that it would not be their last.

* * *

 **Author's note**

 **Here we are at Caleb's chapter. You might notice some parralleling between what he's experiencing and what Lyric is experiencing. This is going to happen over the next few chapters as they get closer and closer to one another. They experience similar things but in different ways. I gave a bit less exposition for Caleb than I did for Lyric but part of that is that his past experiences are going to come out more slowly. For Lyric, I needed to set up how she got to where she was for the chapter to make sense and that required more flashbacks. Caleb is in the war because he's trying to keep his friend alive so that didn't require quite the same amount of exposition.**

 **I don't know how many of you read the original Coming Back To You but if you did you might remember a severe lack of characterization for Gray. I tried to add some depth to his character this time around rather than making him 'Caleb's douchy friend'. He's still got some of that 'playboy' quality going for him but i'm trying to temper it down into a more likable character. I don't know that Gray will ever get his own POV chapters, I don't think he'll need it but I won't discount the possibility at this point in time.**

 **What else...Well, I guess I should explain what a Mucket is for those that don't know much about stuff that was used during the Civil War. It's basically a metal pot that looks a bit like a Coffee percolater. I didn't know that there was any other name for it until I started looking this stuff up. Union soldiers often had better access to coffee than Confederate soldiers and, to some limited extent, it appears to have 'fueled the war'. I don't know about the rest of you but i'm a fucking zombie until I get my coffee in the morning so I can't even IMAGINE trying to fight in a war without it XD**

 **Oh...I should probably state here that I do not actually think Louisiana is a 'bug infested shit hole'. That's Caleb talking. I've been to New Orleans before and find the entire area to be fascinating. That being said, i'm pretty sure that trekking around in the swamps with no access to AC or bug spray was probably no picnic lol. The views of the characters are not the views of management in this case XD**

 **The song for this chapter is 'Some Nights' by the band Fun. The music video for the song is, ironically, set during the civil war so using it here feels doubly appropriate. I also revisited the Anne Dudly song for this chapter. I debated having that be the song that opens this chapter but i will save it as the theme for the next one. It basically straddles both chapters but i have to choose whats most appropriate as I go so we'll save it.**

 **As always, thank you for the reviews! I've been able to keep to my once a week posting for the first three chapters so HOPEFULLY I can maintain that as I go. The next two chapters I'm pretty sure I can get out in roughly the same amount of time but once we start getting into our villain's chapters it's going to get a little tricky. It's entirely possible you'll get a double chapter posting at that time simply because I won't have a choice. This site seems to have a distaste for letting me do larger paragraphs breaks so If I have to shift POV in the same chapter its probably going to come across as very confusing. I'll get more into this once I reach the villain chapter but, suffice it to say, I might have to break up my chapters in a way I didn't originally intend.**

 **Until the next Chapter, I will say to you thank you for reading and I will see you next time :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

* * *

" _Songs like the dreams that the Bal-Maiden spin_

 _Medhel an Gwyns, Medhel An Gwyns_

 _Weaving the song like the cry of the tin_

 _Medhel, oh Medhel an gwyns"-Medhel an Gwyns, Anne Dudley_

* * *

" _Medhel, oh, Medhel an gwyns…_ " Lyric finished singing as she gave the dough a final slap and knead against the counter. She had barely been paying attention to the words coming out of her mouth so she was more than a little surprised when she discovered that everyone else was. It was the ensuing silence that clued her in, the lack of shoes hurrying across the hard floor or the sound of a whisk scraping against a bowl. She glanced up to see what had caused everyone to go so silent and found the whole of the kitchen gaping back at her.

 _Oh dear_ , she thought, _what have I done now?_

"I'm sorry," she apologized, giving a nervous laugh, "was I horribly out of tune?"

"What kind of language was _that_?" Eulalie demanded in her usual scornful tone.

"Excuse me?" Lyric replied, confused. "I wasn't singing in any language. It was just something I had stuck in my head is all."

"What you was singin' just now wasn't no gibberish." Georgina informed her, straightening up from where she had been stooped over the table, "In fact, if I had to hazard a guess, I would say it was old world Cornish. Where you learn dat song, girl? Your daddy hire a british governess for ya?"

"No, I never had a governess." Lyric answered as she picked up a bread tin and deposited her dough into it. "Nor a nanny. Surely, I was just making up words."

"No you wasn't neither!'" Georgina argued as she took the tin out of Lyric's hand and pushed a bowl into them instead. "Start the sauce for them eggs."

Moving briskly to the oven, the older woman shoved the bread tins onto their shelf. When she was done with that, she stoked the fire beneath them before straightening up and rubbing her floury hands against her apron. Slowly, she turned back to face Lyric.

"That were no more 'made up' than the creole you all speak." She continued, shooting Eulalie the side eye for good measure. "I don't tink too many folks use it nowadays though. Last time I hear it were years ago, when miss Maddie were a baby."

"But _I've_ never heard it before, Georgina." Lyric persisted as she cracked an egg on the side of the bowl, "How could I possibly sing in a language I've never _heard_?"

"I got no answers for you, girl. All I know is dat what you was singin' was Cornish. How ya come to be speakin' it is yer own business."

"Maybe she done dreamed it up!" Eulalie suggested tartly as she picked up a tray to carry to the dining room. "Dreamin' all she good for anyway!"

With that, the girl left the room and Lyric glared at the door she disappeared through it.

"Don you pay her no mind now, Miss Lyric." Delphine said as she came over to pick up her own tray. "She just feelin' superior for da first time in her life. You just ignore her and she'll pick on someone else."

"I was never unkind to her that I remember," Lyric mumbled, frowning down at the counter, "I don't understand why she feels the need to be unkind to me now."

"She just one of dos dat enjoy others misfortune, pay her no mind." Georgina said, interrupting their conversation and pointing at the door that led to the formal dining room. "Now you get dat tray outta here, miss Delphine, afore I catch hell from the missus! Git on now!"

Delphine scurried out with a little grin and Georgina shook her head at the swinging door. After a moment she turned back to Lyric with a secret smile on her face.

"As for you, missy, you best be gettin' up dose stairs to help Miss Clarina get dressed. She specifically requested you dis mornin'."

Lyric couldn't help but smile a little herself. She and Clarina barely had time to talk these days, not since Lady Harris had all but forbidden Clarina from having anything to do with 'the Mongrel'. Still, her sister had found ways to get around Lissette's orders and, so far, this way was easiest.

"An don't you be dawdlin' anymore dan necessary, ya hear!" Georgina scolded good naturedly. "If the missus catch you I ain't gonta be savin' you from da whippin' she be dishin' out!"

" _Mèsi_ , Georgina!" Lyric said, dropping a kiss on the old woman's cheek before making her way to the servants stair that would take her, unnoticed, to the second floor. She all but flew up the narrow staircase, dodging out of the way of one of the scullery maids who was hurrying down from lighting the morning fires. Lyric paused once she reached the door that led into the corridor, peering out slowly lest Mrs. Harris should see her.

She was rewarded for her caution, Lissette was just slipping out of her own rooms and making her way toward the main staircase. Lyric tried to give her a decent amount of time to get down them, even giving her a few seconds extra just in case. Only after Mrs. Harris' ladies maid had vacated the room did Lyric opened the door and make her way down the hallway to Clarina's bedroom. She rapped on the door with her knuckles in one sharp tap. She grinned when Clarina returned the knock with two of her own.

They had developed this system of communication when they were children and their bedroom walls had lined up with one another. One tap meant 'are you there?', two meant 'the coast is clear', and three was 'danger! Stay away!' If Clarina signaled with two knocks then Lyric would sneak into her room at night and they would play with dolls or share stories. It was comforting to know that the old system could still be of use now.

"Come in, come in!" Clarina said, keeping her voice low as Lyric slid silently into the room. "Did Mama go down already?"

"She did, I saw her as I was about to come into the hallway."

"Well, the doesn't leave us much time then," her sister commented as she picked up a chemise that was draped over a nearby chair, "How are you getting on in the quarter? Still having nightmares?"

"Well enough, I suppose." Lyric answered the first question as Clarina pulled her night dress over her head, "There's never enough to eat but we make do."

"There's no need for you to go hungry." Clarina tsked as she fluffed her chestnut colored hair over one shoulder. "I'll have some bread sent down later."

"As lovely as that would be, everyone would know why and say I was getting special treatment," Lyric told her with a sigh, "Unless you plan on feeding everyone in the quarter, I wouldn't risk it. Besides, your mother would probably have a conniption!"

"Hmph!" Clarina scoffed, her thin brows drawing together in annoyance. "That's no different than any other day. She's probably down there now, chomping at the bit, and waiting to grill me about Bran's visit last night."

"I saw his carriage leaving." Lyric commented as Clarina pulled on her chemise and then lifted her arms so Lyric could help her into her corset.

"And the nightmares?" Clarina prodded, gently.

"Ongoing." Lyric returned as she wrapped the undergarment around the other girl's slim frame. Fingers moving briskly, she began to pull the stays one at a time to tighten them. She herself had never been tied into one of these things. _Manman_ had not believed in them and her father had not cared enough to force the issue.

"Did Bran propose again?" Lyric asked, more to change the subject than anything else.

"Yes." Her sister responded dryly. Lyric gave the girl a bemused, if not sympathetic, smile.

Branson Thibodeaux was not unknown to the household. Their father and his had been old friends who liked to get together for hunting and poker several times a week. When they were children, he would bring Bran along and the rambunctious child had delighted in chasing after her sisters with spiders or sticks or anything else he could find.

Lyric, for her part, had very few dealings with him. As a general rule, she was not allowed in the main part of the house when he was in attendance. What she _did_ remember was a whey faced boy with a headful for unruly copper hair who once caught her going up the stairs for a lesson. She couldn't have been much older than ten or so. Branson had demanded she bring him a tall glass of sarsaparilla, apparently taking her for a servant. She told him he could get it himself and he had tried to strike her, calling her an 'uppity house nigger'.

She remembered feeling deep and utterly profound shock at having that word used against her, she had certainly heard it before but no one had ever uttered it in her presence. Even Lissette, who didn't care for her at all, had never uttered that particular epitaph in reference to her. She had fled from him to her father, whose face had grown stormy upon being told what had transpired. He told her he would take care of it and she had had no more encounters with Branson until years later.

As an adult, Branson Thibodeaux was an altogether different story. The onset of adulthood had been very kind to him, turning him from a gangly youth into a tall man of slim build with an incredibly handsome face. The unruly hair of his childhood had been tamed down into a glorious wave of shining copper curls and he was considered by most to be the most eligible bachelor in Iberville Parish.

Lyric had crossed his path again about three years prior, before the war had called him away. At first, she hadn't been sure who he was, the pale young man who had chased after her through the rain. She had been in town, running an errand for her mother. She had been racing under the awnings, trying to avoid getting wet whilst hurrying to the carriage that was waiting for her on the corner.

* * *

" _Miss!" A male voice called. "Miss, you dropped this!"_

 _Lyric turned, peering through the rain and hurrying bodies, to see a man with a nicely trimmed red beard pushing his way through the crowds towards her. It was not until he was upon her that Lyric recognized him as one Mr. Branson Thibodeaux._

" _You dropped this outside the general store." He said politely, holding out a small wax wrapped parcel._

" _I-" she began, suddenly on guard as she reached out to take the package, "Thank you."_

" _Do I know you?" He asked as she took the bundle from his fingers._

" _Non, Msye," she had replied, reverting to creole in her nervousness. "I don't think so."_

" _No, no, I do," he persisted, "You live at Breeze Knolle don't you? I saw you once a child, going up the stairs. You have a musical sounding name like Harmony or Melody…"_

" _Lyric." She offered quietly and Branson nodded._

" _Yes, yes, that was it. You're Master Harris'-"_

" _Thank you for bringing my parcel," she interrupted lest he blurt out her parentage on the busy street, "Manman would have scolded me severely had I returned home without it. If you don't mind, I must hurry! This storm is only threatening to get worse."_

" _Yes, of course, I just-" a crack of thunder sounded overhead and made them both jump, "I wanted to offer sincere apologies for how I spoke to you all those years ago."_

 _Lyric blinked up at him as though he had grown a second head._

" _You... remember that?" She asked, shocked nearly into silence._

" _It was most ungentlemanly of me and I promised myself that should I ever see you again I would tell you so. I should not have spoken to you as I did."_

" _Well, I…" she stammered, bewildered that he remembered her at all, much less wanted to make amends to her "I.. gratefully accept your apology."_

" _Most kind of you." He replied as another crack of thunder sounded overhead. "While I have you though, might I also ask after the young lady of the house, Clarina?"_

" _Well, what would you like to know?" Lyric asked, having to shout to be heard over the now pounding rain._

" _Is she...I mean does she…" he stumbled over his words, acting for all the world like a nervous ninny._

" _Are you trying to ask if she is being courted?" Lyric supplied gently._

" _Yes, I suppose I am." He replied, looking rather sheepish. Lyric felt herself smiling at how adorably uncomfortable he had become._

" _Despite her mother's best efforts, sir, she is not." Lyric informed him kindly._

" _Branson, well, Bran," he corrected, grinning, "I think we can forgo formalities at this point, don't you?"_

" _Bran, then." She corrected with a laugh. "No, she is not courting anyone at present."_

" _That is...very good to know." He responded with a happy smile. "Well, I should let you return to your carriage. I only wished to deliver your package to you, I did not intend to hold you up for so long."_

" _It's quite alright. Perhaps we will see you at Breeze Knolle in the weeks to come?"_

" _I certainly plan to pay a visit. Goodbye, Miss Lyric!"_

 _With that he blended back into the crowd as quickly as he had come._

* * *

"You could do worse." Lyric reminded her quietly, recalling that pleasant encounter with Bran back before the war. He had been warm with her, contrite. She couldn't account for her sister's reluctance with him now.

"Yes, so I'm told!" Clarina scoffed with a humorless laugh.

"Is he really so bad?" Lyric asked as she gave the stays one final firm pull, "When he was coming around before the war you were quite taken with him."

"Yes, when he was kind and honest. When all he wanted was to raise and breed horses and he wasn't trying to lord his position in the army over me. Now, when we're together, all he does is stare at his face in whatever reflective surface he can find."

"That does sound a bit odd." Lyric agreed, patting her sister's shoulder so she'd know the corset was laced completely. She helped Clarina into her gown next, a ridiculous contraption that was more hoops than dress. Clarina fussed and grumbled through the entire process.

"Ugh! Why must we wear these infernal things?" She gripped through gritted teeth. "I can barely sit down when I'm in it and it catches on everything!"

Lyric didn't say anything but something about her silence must have gotten Clarina's attention. Her jade green eyes were suddenly clouded over with guilt.

"Oh, I'm a goose!" She sighed apologetically. "Here I am, complaining about my dress while you're stuck out there in the Slave Quarters! I promise that the minute I'm Mistress of this place, I'll get you out of there."

"If your mother let's me stay that long." Lyric pointed out, trying not to look or sound as forlorn as she felt. "Now that _Manman_ is gone, she'll probably want to be rid of me too."

"We'll she'll do it over my dead body!" Clarina huffed. "I should have stopped her from throwing you out in the first place."

"It's not your fault and besides, what power did you have to stop her?"

"Touche." Her sister sighed, settling all of her skirts over the chair in front of her vanity. "I just wish there was something I could do. I hate that you're stuck out there and forced to work as a maid."

"Don't worry about me, I'm strong," Lyric told her as she tried to plaster a smile on her face. "I'll figure something out, but in the meantime, let's see what we can do with your hair before your mother sends the whole of the kitchen staff to find you."

After Clarina had gone down for breakfast, Lyric busied herself pulling the sheets from her sister's bed. Clarina hadn't asked her to change the linens but it gave her something to do and keeping busy felt like a good idea.

She didn't know when she began to hear the commotion. At first, she disregarded it, thinking that a couple of the field hands were having an argument out on the lawn. It wasn't until she heard a muffled, hollow, booming that she realized it wasn't coming from the Cane fields but the front of the house.

"FIRE!" A voice shouted from somewhere nearby. "Cannons forward!"

She dropped the bundle of sheets at her feet, frozen, fearing that the rebel forces were descending upon them. She ran to the window, peering out onto the grounds and fully expecting to see men in Union colors spilling out onto the lawn.

Surprisingly, she saw nothing, yet she could still hear the distinct sounds of battle.

"Gray!" A deep voice shouted behind her. "Head down, flank left!"

Lyric whirled about but saw nothing unusual in the bedroom. The walls were still decorated in pale pink flowers, the large mahogany wardrobe was still sensibly shut, and the four poster bed, though now without sheets, stood solidly in its place between the east windows. Whatever she was hearing, it could not possibly be in the room.

The sound of battle was nearly deafening. She clapped her hands over her ears and let out a small scream when the sound of a cannon being fired erupted around her. She could feel a veritable shaking of the floor beneath her as she fell to her knees on the pink flowered rug. The smell of gunsmoke threatened to choke her. She pressed her forehead against her knees, curling as much into a ball as she could manage. She gritted her teeth together as the sounds of battle waged all around her.

"Miss Lyric, what in god's name is you doin'?!"

As quick as it began the sounds of battle ceased. Lyrics eyes popped open as her brain registered the sudden quiet. There was no smoke, no popping guns or cannon fire. In fact the only sounds she could currently make out was that of birdsong and the gentle chatter of maids airing out the rooms. Lyric lifted her head from the floor to see one of the maids, Gwen was her name, staring at her in perplexed shock from the doorway.

"I...there was…" she couldn't find adequate words to express what had happened, or rather what she thought had happened.

"I..felt faint." She finally said lamely. She didn't know what else _to_ say. The truth was far too bizarre and the last thing she needed was for Gwen to run and tell everyone that she was losing her mind.

"Are you alright, should I send for someone?" the girl asked, her eyebrows raising high enough to fly off her face altogether.

"No, no...it's quite passed now." Lyric said as she slowly climbed onto shaking legs. She hoped Gwen didn't notice the trembling of her hands as she reached down to gather up the long forgotten sheets.

"I haven't had breakfast yet," she mumbled, "it made me light headed."

"Hmm," Gwen made a noise that implied she didn't much believe Lyric's story but was unwilling or uninterested in pressing for more. "Well, whatever it was, you better git dem sheets down to da laundry. Georgina will be wonderin' what's become of you if you don' git yourself back to da kitchen."

"Yes, yes, of course." She muttered, gathering up her bundle and hurrying from the room as quickly as she could.

Once in the servants hall again, Lyric slid down the wall, clutching the sheets to her chest and shaking violently. Something had happened in that room that she didn't understand. Something was happening to _her_ that she didn't understand. First, she saw someone who was not herself in the mirror. Next, she sang a song she had never heard in a language she did not speak. Now, she was experiencing auditory hallucinations in Clarina's bedroom. What in god's name was going on? Was she being 'crossed' as Delphine and Georgina suggested? And if so, then by whom?

"Oh, _Manman_ , where are you when I need you?" She groaned, pressing her face into the sheets and trying not to weep.

Even as she said it she knew that she was on her own. Her mother was gone. She wasn't going to magically appear to answer any questions now. Whatever answers Lyric needed she was going to have to seek them out on her own but...God, where did she even begin?

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **Well, we now have an introduction to two more main characters with Clarina and Bran. Those who read the original story might remember that his name was Braxton back then and he was an utter twat waffle! XD I think i've managed to humanize him a bit more for this version. I haven't gotten to either Bran or Clarina's POV chapters yet but they are coming. Clarina's POV is next weeks chapter if my memory serves.**

 **I had originally intended for this to be Clarina's first chapter but it didn't make sense to post her POV and then pull everyone back to the morning to see her conversation with Lyric. Plus I was somewhat afraid that jumping straight into Clarina would make everyone forget about Caleb hearing the singing and make it confusing to go back to it. It seems to have flowed much better this way.**

 **Big thank you to Mohawk woman for helping me figure out how to do line breaks on this site! I could not, for the life of me, get this site to STOP smushing all my text together. Hopefully, everything will look spaced out nicely and _not_ look like i don't know how to do paragraphs XD**

 **I don't think I have mush to say about music in this chapter, obviously we've seen the song at the top there for about three chapters now. I don't have any straight musical score to share for this one either so Medhel an gwyns is what we got. I'm sure the song will come back again in later chapters, much to the confusion of both our main characters lol**

 **What else to share? Well, I guess I can post a preemptive warning that shit is about to get pretty dark in this story. I'll have to remember to put a trigger warnings at the beginning of later chapters. i mean its not like Tarantino levels of violence or anything but uh...yeeeeeeeeeah...shits gonna start hitting the fan soon XD**

 **Ok, well, with that happy thought I will leave you to enjoy chapter 3 (4 cause the site hates me) and I will see you next week!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

* * *

" _I come home in the morning light_

 _My mother says when are you going to live your life right_

 _Oh mother dear we're not the fortunate ones_

 _And girls just want to have fun"-Girls just want to have fun, Alba Llibre Ruis_

* * *

"Mama," Clarina sighed, pinching the flesh between her eyes whilst trying to keep a hold on her temper, "I have told you a million times, I do not wish to marry at present."

How many times were they going to have this conversation, she wondered? It had been often enough when her father was alive but now it felt like they were having it almost daily. It was the question her mother posed to her every time they sat down together.

 _When do you plan to marry?_

It was asked over the Etouffee at dinner or as she was coming in from a long shift at the hospital. It hung in the air like a hide set to tanning. How many times and in how many ways did she have to say it before her mother would accept her answer?

"Be reasonable, Clarina," Lissette replied huffily, as though her daughter were merely a petulant child who refused to eat her supper, "You are nearly twenty years old. Soon enough you will be considered an old maid. No man worth his salt will want you then!"

"Why must I marry at all?" Clarina countered, exasperation leaking out to color her tone. "It's not as though I have no skills or talents to see me through life. My sisters made good matches that you heartily approved of! Why can't I choose something different for myself?"

"For one very simple reason," her mother answered, fixing her with a glare from her spot across the dining room table, "you are a daughter of the aristocracy and every choice you make reflects upon your father and I. He is no longer here to suffer from your poor judgement so it's left to me to steer you straight."

Clarina gripped the napkin in her lap in two tight fists, twisting it as if it were her mother's neck. This was one of those moments when she truly hated being a daughter. Had she been a son, her mother would have told her she had all the time in the world to marry. She wouldn't have balked at Clarina's independence, she would have applauded her desire to fight the lions of injustice. Since Clarina had not been born a man, her mother was bound and determined to see her succumb to a matrimonial fate.

Lisette had been trying to mastermind just such a fate for months now and not with just any man either. No, she wanted Clarina to accept the proposal of one Mr. Branson Thibodeaux, a newly promoted Brigadier General in the Confederate army. Clarina had already given Branson, or Bran as she had called him when they were children, the customary second refusal. She had no intention of turning that refusal into an acceptance the next time he asked either. Unfortunately for her, neither of the first two refusals were being taken seriously. Not by Bran and certainly not by her mother.

"I will not marry Branson, Mama." She stated firmly.

"And why ever not?" Her mother demanded, viciously cutting at the meat on her plate. Clarina winced at the squeak and scrape of the cutlery against the porcelain. When her mother finally finished her assault on breakfast, she shoved the sauce covered flesh into her mouth and chewed as through the food were to blame for her daughters insubordination.

"I don't see the issue here. You've known Mr. Thibodeaux since you were children, he's handsome, well mannered, and-

"Say it plainly, mother, he's rich!" Clarina interrupted, irritation leaking through her voice faster than she could reign it in.

"Well, he certainly isn't hurting for money, that's true, but more than that he isn't some stranger from the streets. The marriage craze in the south is out of control and I will not have you running off with any Jacktar from nowhere."

"I have stated time and again that I do not wish to marry." She gritted out through clenched teeth. "You need have no fear of my running off with _anyone_. Can this _please_ be the end of the discussion?"

"Clarina!" Her mother snapped, banging her fork down on the table noisily. "I am at the end of my tether with you! I have tried my best to give you time to come to the table on your own and make a sensible decision but it's clear that you are going to fight me on all fronts."

"Give me time to come to the table?" Clarina repeated, letting out a humorless laugh. "You've forced me to endure numerous chaperoned teas and long walks with the man!"

"What is so wrong with Bran? It's not as though men are lining up to court you."

"Besides the fact that he's pompous and arrogant?" Clarina asked pointedly, her voice rising with her temper. "He's so in love with himself that there wouldn't be room for me in the relationship!"

This was a true enough statement but not the entire truth when it came to her refusal. If she were honest, she _would_ have married Bran if he had asked before the war. Then, he had been sweet and considerate, wanting nothing more than a quiet life raising horses. The war had killed what she had liked best about him, turning him hard and aloof. The vanity she spoke of had always been there but was more pronounced than it had been before he left. Now she was certain that she could _never_ love Bran as much as he loved himself.

"So, he's vain," her mother conceded, waving the issue away with one hand, as though Clarina were merely complaining about his height, "from where I'm sitting he has plenty of reason to be."

"It's not just his vanity, mother," Clarina persisted in another feeble attempt to make her mother understand, "he has lost any sense of humanity! Do you know he tried to forbid me from treating any Union soldiers at the hospital? For one thing, he has no say in whom I do or do not treat and second, the side they choose to fight on doesn't make them any less worthy of medical treatment or pain relief!"

"Well, on that front Mr. Thibodeaux and I are in agreement." Her mother commented as she lifted her cup to her lips and took a dainty sip. "They are the enemy and should be treated as such."

"Has the world turned on its head?" Clarina burst out, her hold on her temper well and truly lost. "What happened to compassion for your fellow man? Are these not the Christian values we're supposed to be practicing in our everyday life?"

"Now you're just being dramatic, my dear." Her mother said with a condescending smile.

"Oh, so it was the _christian_ thing to do when you expelled my sister and her mother from the house?" She asked spitefully

"That is enough!" Lissette Harris shouted, rising to her full height, which was not much, and glaring at her daughter across that short space. Her eyes shot sparks and she could have burned Clarina to a crisp with the heat of her gaze alone. Mother and daughter locked eyes in a silent battle of wills, neither willing to be the one who looked away first.

"I don't want to hear _anything_ about that mongrel in my presence again. Do you understand me?"

"Or what, mother?" Clarina responded quietly. She had never backed down from an argument with her mother before and she wasn't about to start now. "Will you expel me from the house too?

"You will cooperate with me in this marriage, Clarina, if I have to force you down the aisle myself. He will ask for your hand tonight and you _will_ accept him. As for your...sister... she will not be a problem for much longer."

"What does that mean." Clarina demanded, rising to her full height as well. "What have you done mother?"

"What I've done is find a solution of one of our problems. _You_ will provide the solution to the other."

"What does that mean? Stop speaking in riddles!"

"What it means," her mother bit back, "Is that we are ruined if you do not accept Mr. Thibodeaux!"

Clarina could only blink at her in response. Lisette, suddenly looking tired, sank back into her seat with a heavy sigh.

"What do you mean we're ruined?" Clarina asked, shocked out of anger and into an eerie calm.

"Ruined." Her mother repeated miserably. "Nearly bankrupt. Your father made increasingly bad business decisions in the last months of his life and now we can barely afford to keep our slaves and staff. I'll be forced to sell nearly all of them before the month is out if we continue this way."

"And Bran will…"

"Branson will clean up the debts and run the business." Lissette interjected softly. "But _only_ on the condition that you marry him."

Clarina sank into her seat as well, feeling dazed and a little queasy. Suddenly, so much of her mother's insistence on the matter made sense. Clarina knew that _she_ could survive on her own without the wealth and privilege of her father's estate, that _she_ could leave that day and let it burn to the ground, never missing it for a minute. Her mother, however, didn't know how to be anything other than the Mistress of Breeze Knolle.

"Why does he care?" Clarina wondered aloud. "Why would he want _me_ of all people? I'm hardly marriage material."

"Despite your best efforts, dear, you do possess a very pretty face and I think he likes the idea of taming ''Clarina Harris of Breeze Knolle Plantation." her mother told her affectionately, sounding more complimentary than she had in years.

"I'm scared, Mama." Clarina said shakily. "I don't want to be responsible for putting all our people out on the streets or subjecting our slaves to sale and separation but...I don't want to chain myself to someone I'm not sure I even _like_ anymore."

"Do you think I liked your father when we married?" Her mother countered, not without a touch bitterness.

"I assumed you had some choice in the matter."

"Oh, I had plenty of suitors but he had the largest estate. My father wanted to expand his sugar business and your father was the key to that. He had no way of knowing that John would ultimately run the business into the ground."

"Is marriage as awful as it sounds?" She asked, feeling utterly defeated.

"Not all the time. It has its sweet moments as much as its sour ones. I found it more tolerable when you girls were born and before…" she let that last part trail off, pulling her mouth into a harsh line at the thought of Isadora.

"You said you had a 'solution' in terms of Lyric," Clarina said, suddenly remembering that part of the argument. "You never explained what that meant."

"I'm tired, Clarina, let's not speak on the matter any more just now. All our quarreling has given me a migraine."

Clarina knew she wasn't likely to get anymore out of her mother if she was pulling the migraine card. She would retreat to her room with her bottles of 'miracle cures' and opiates, likely not to emerge again until evening, when Mr. Thibodeaux arrived.

"Alright, Mama." She replied quietly. She felt about as tired as her mother looked.

Lisette merely gave her daughter a curt nod before climbing to her feet and leaving the dining room. Clarina didn't know how long she sat there before one of the younger serving girls, Eulalie her name was, stuck her head through the door and made a noise.

'Beggin' your pardon, Ma'am," the girl said cautiously, "But we was wonderin' if it was alright to clear up now?"

"I...yes, yes, that's fine, Eulalie." Clarina replied calmly. She climbed to her feet and pushed in her chair. "I've lost my appetite anyway."

"Is everything alright? We heard shoutin' from the kitchen."

"It's fine." She told the girl with a reassuring smile. She had no way of knowing if the smile reached her eyes. "Everything is perfectly fine."

Even as she said it, she knew that it was far from true.

* * *

Clarina's thoughts remained on the conversation with her mother throughout the day. It was with her as she rode her horse into town for her shift at the hospital. It was with her as she changed the dressing on a wound or mopped a feverish brow with a damp cloth. She could not escape the reality that a union with Bran could save everyone, including her sister.

If she were suddenly Mistress she would be able to move Lyric out of the Slave Quarters, provide better food and lodging to the staff. Not only could she pay off her father's sizable debt but she could ensure her mother lived comfortably for the rest of her life. Why, what she could do was fairly limitless... _if_ she could bring herself to give up her freedom. The question was, was she willing to do so?

"Bon..Bonnie…?" The soldiers raspy voice invaded her thoughts. She shook them away and looked down at his weary, lined face, smiling and shaking her head.

"No, George, It's Clarina." She told him kindly. "Do you know where you are?"

"Cal-Calcasieu…" He tried to get the words out and failed. Clarina poured some water into a glass on the nightstand and helped him to drink it.

"You're in Iberville Parish, remember," she reminded him gently, "at the hospital?"

"4th regiment...Calcasieu Parish…" He mumbled feebly. Then his eyes closed and he said nothing more. Clarina sighed and patted one of his hands where it lay on the blanket.

Poor George had been in and out of fever ever since arriving at the hospital a week ago. Infection had set into his foot and Dr. Phelps had been forced to amputate it the day before. She didn't even think George was aware of the missing limb, the hospital, any of it. He was stuck in a kind of dreamy haze where he was still marching with his unit one hundred and twenty eight miles away. She wished there was more she could do to make him comfortable but Laudanum was in short supply and only Dr. Phelps was allowed to administer it.

A clatter from the room across the hall brought Clarina's head whipping around and a startled scream from one of the nurses had her jumping to her feet.

"You don't belong here!" An angry male voice was yelling. "You don't belong!"

"Jehoshaphat!" She swore under her breath as she raced across the hall to find Reginald, or Reggie as he was usually called, backing young Ginny Thomas up against the west wall. He had her by the face and his hands were smeared with something red that Clarina fervently hoped was not blood. On the floor by his bed was an upturned tray, bits of smashed cornbread and a jelly of some sort leaked out from underneath it. Obviously the tray was the source of the clatter she had heard.

"Reggie." Clarina called loudly, her voice firm but calm, as she walked up behind the man and laid a hand on his back. "Reggie, you need to let Ginny go, please?"

"Miss Clarina…" Ginny whimpered, two tears trailing out of her eyes to dribble down into the red. She could now see that it was Jam, and not blood, that was smeared all over Reggie's hands. Now Clarina had at least some clue as to what was happening. She resolved to have a talk with Ginny about what she served to the soldiers when all this was over.

"It's alright, Miss Ginny," Clarina said, never taking her eyes off of Reggie, "Mr. Reginald is just a bit confused. Reggie, I need you to come back now? Can you do that? Can you follow my voice?"

She knew that in his mind, Reggie was still at the front. He had gotten the Jam on his hands and it had thrown him back into whatever had happened during his last battle.

She knew very few details; only that he was the lone survivor of his unit and that when they found him he was kneeling in a puddle, his hands and face covered in blood. He had been catatonic for the first few weeks of his stay but visits from his eldest daughter had begun to bring him out of his shell. This was just one of many incidents they had had lately.

Clarina's question achieved what she wanted but not in the way she wanted it. Reggie released Ginny's face but instead of calming himself as she intended, he whipped around and grabbed Clarina by the throat, propelling her backwards and onto the the empty bed. His hold on her throat was not so tight that she couldn't breath but it was tight enough to be uncomfortable. She stared up into his wide, panicked eyes and tried to remain calm and still.

"It's all wrong, all backwards!" He bellowed into her face. "Where are my men? Where are they!?"

Clarina heard Ginny screaming for help and she held up a hand to stop the girl from making the situation worse. If they came in and restrained Reggie, if he perceived any other threat in that moment other than herself, the situation would explode. Clarina knew this man, she knew his story, and unlike the others she knew how to reach him.

"Will the…" She tried to sing and had to stop in order to swallow around the pressure he was exerting on her windpipe. It was uncomfortable but if she did this slowly, maybe she could get through to him before the lack of oxygen caused her to faint.

"...circle be unbroken, by and by, by and by…" she sang in a raspy whisper, "There's a better home awaiting...in the sky, in the sky…"

Slowly, Clarina felt his hands releasing her. It was by a fraction of an inch with each word, but it made her able to sing the hymn with more confidence.

"Oh, I followed close behind her," Clarina sang sweetly when she was able to draw more air, "tried to hold up and be brave…"

"But I could not hide my sorrow…" Reggie's voice was joining hers now, albeit brokenly, as he released her and she was able to sit up. She smiled at him encouragingly, taking one of his hands in hers as they continued.

"When they laid her in the grave." He broke down on that last word, doubling over and burying his face in Clarina's skirts like a child.

She patted his back comfortingly as Matthew and Ben, two of the more burly male attendants, came racing into the room. She shook her head at them as they took in the image of her sitting there, hair all in disarray, with a grown man sobbing into her lap. They were bewildered to behold Ginny, who was still in her place by the wall, jam covering her face and mouth with strands of blond hair sticking out from under her cap.

"It's alright now, Reggie," Clarina soothed, "it's alright."

"I'm sorry, Miss Clarina, I'm sorry!" He sobbed over and over.

"I know, it's all alright."

"What in god's name!" Dr. Phelps voice demanded from the doorway. Clarina looked up to see the portly, bespectacled man gaping at the scene as though he had come upon a tawdry play.

"It's alright, Dr. Phelps." She told him in her still, oh so calm voice. "Ginny here brought Mr. McCullough some Jam with his cornbread and we had an...incident. It's under control now."

"You stupid girl!" He shouted as he rounded on Ginny. Her wide, frightened eyes darted from Clarina to him and back again. "You should know better than to bring such things to the men on this side of the hospital!"

"Now, now," Clarina interrupted, feeling Reggie's shoulders tighten under her hands at all the renewed bedlam, "The girl is new. I seem to remember making similar mistakes in my first weeks as well. I suspect this whole thing is a good example of _why_ we don't do such things, don't you agree, Dr. Phelps?"

"Well I...yes, I suppose." The doctor stammered, losing his steam in the face of Clarina's reasonable tone. He was a proud man who liked to be in control of everything. If Clarina could calm his temper in a way that made him feel like he had controlled it himself, everything would run much more smoothly.

"There now." She continued, moving out from under Reggie and helping him to lay back on the cot. He rolled onto his side and curled into a ball, still weeping and shaking but no longer violent.

"I'll find you some different food, alright Mr. McCullough?" She told him quietly. He nodded briskly but said nothing. She frowned a little before walking over to Ginny.

"You will learn quickly what you can and cannot do in this hospital, Miss Thomas." She informed her kindly. "I suspect it was the Jam you brought that set off this particular episode."

"I'm sorry." The girl hiccuped. "I was just told to bring him lunch, I was given no other instructions."

"By whom? Who would tell you to bring this man cornbread with jam?" Clarina demanded, still speaking calmly and rationally.

"It was Miss Fellows, I believe. She handed me the tray and...and...I brought it to him like I was told. He got some of it on his hands and then he just…" She couldn't get the words out and Clarina sighed as it dawned on her what had likely happened.

"Ginny, I think you confused the names when Miss Fellows handed you that tray. I believe she probably told you to take it to Mr. McCormick, not Mr. McCullough."

"Oh my goodness!" She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. Her expression was one of utter disbelief and embarrassment. Clarina felt for the girl, it was difficult to follow every instruction when they were often barked from across a room. Miss Fellows was a good nurse, she worked well under pressure, but she had probably caught the girl on her way to wait upon another soldier and Ginny had simply messed up the names.

"I know that this hospital can be a mad house and we are not always as clear in our instructions as we ought to be. Just be mindful of the names we say so that we don't run into an altercation like this again, hm?"

"Yes, Miss Clarina!" Ginny said, bobbing her head.

"Alright then, go clean yourself up now."

The girl hurried away as though she couldn't get out fast enough. Once she was out of sight, Clarina sighed and leaned back against the wall wearily.

"These new nurses will be the death of me." She mumbled tiredly.

"Well, you handled that situation most admirably." Dr. Phelps complimented. His eyes turning to regard Reggie, who was calmer but still curled into a fetal position on the bed.

"I only did what I've seen his daughter do when she visits. That song calms whatever demons are roaming around in his mind." She answered sadly. She knew it had something to do with his deceased wife but other than that she had no answers.

"It's still more than the vapid, hair brained nurses they send us seem capable of. You have a real talent for this Miss Harris and not just with those that are a might touched in the head. You were a god send during George's operation."

"Thank you, Dr. Phelps." She said back and tried to smile at him. "It's much appreciated."

"Most of my colleagues would scoff to hear me say this but I believe you have the makings to be a fine doctor. I would be willing to write a letter of recommendation if you would like to pursue further training?"

"Do you mean that?" Clarina gasped, a sudden burst of excitement rushing through her.

"I absolutely mean it. You could even do a residency here if you choose, assuming the war doesn't end soon."

"I would love that Dr, Phelps! Thank you!" She gushed, suppressing the desire to hug him and embarrass both of them. "But…"

"Yes?" He prompted when she hesitated.

"It's just that...you see, I might be getting married soon and…"

"You don't think your husband would approve?" He finished for her.

"No, I rather think he wouldn't." She added glumly.

"Are you sure he is the one for you then? Forgive me for being bold but we do live in an era where unmarried woman have _some_ choice in who they tie themselves to. If this young man is going to chain you to the household then perhaps it's time to rethink the relationship."

"Oh, Mr. Phelps," she laughed, "if only you were my mother! It's her wish, in fact, that I marry him. I, myself, would rather eat dirt than chain myself to a man I'm not sure I could love."

"Then why do it?" He prompted.

"Because...because...it would solve some financial issues rather quickly." she told him glumly, hoping he was smart enough to read between the lines so she didn't have to explain further.

"Ah! I see." He mumbled after a few minutes. He looked thoughtful for a bit before he spoke again.

"Well, Miss Clarina, I will put it to you this way. If the marriage is unavoidable because of extenuating circumstances I will tell you this: All things are negotiable."

"I don't understand." Clarina replied, giving him a quizzical expression.

"If the man in question wants to marry you badly enough then you can negotiate your own terms." He told her baldly, looking a bit uncomfortable. Clarina blinked at him and then realization washed over her.

"I had not thought of it that way."

"Well, I hope I haven't overstepped in this. You are a fine nurse and I think you would make a fine doctor but the choice, as ever, is yours."

"Thank you, Dr. Phelps!" She declared, taking one of his hands and squeezing it. "You've made me feel hopeful for the first time in weeks."

She leaned in to kiss his ruddy cheek before rushing off to fix her hair. She didn't see the doctors stunned expression or red cheeks as he reached up to touch where her lips had landed. She didn't see the small smile creep over the lips of a man who was not so easily charmed nor hear the quiet 'well, I'll be' that he uttered under his breath.

All she knew was that, perhaps for the first time in her life, she had some control over what was going to happen to her and that was a heady thought indeed!

* * *

"Scalpel, please?" Dr. Phelps requested.

Clarina handed it to him quietly, watching in fascination as he made the incision on the side of the bullet entry wound.

"Forceps?" He said next.

She picked up the shiny, slightly curved instrument and deposited it in his bloody hands. He pulled the incised skin open and clamped it so he could better see inside the wound.

"Now, if you could bring that lantern a bit closer, Miss Harris, yes, that's better." Dr. Phelps mumbled quietly as she complied. He leaned in to feel about the wound with his fingers.

"There's the little devil," he grunted when his fingers located the mini bullet, "hand me the extractor now, please?"

Clarina reached over and picked up the long surgical tool with its expanding tip. The doctor would use it to grab the rounded bullet and, with any luck, extract it cleanly.

"Alright, it appears that the bullet has put a small nick in the intestines here. I'm going to need for you to be ready to clamp the area when I extract it." Dr Phelps informed her calmly.

"Do you need for me to sew the area up for you?" She offered as she took her place on his opposite side, another pair of clamps ready in her hand. Dr. Phelps was clearly tired, she could see it in his face and the exhausted slump of his shoulders.

This was just one of many surgeries he had already performed since early morning. The soldier had been brought in right as Clarina was leaving for the day. She had offered to stay and help, knowing full well that Dr. Phelps would likely need the added support.

"That would be most helpful, yes." He replied with a grateful sigh.

They moved quickly together, Dr. Phelps sliding the round bullet out and Clarina clamping down the damaged part of the organ before any waste could slip out into the man's bloodstream. It wouldn't do for them to remove the bullet, only to have him die of sepsis.

Next, she plucked up a needle and thread from the tray and began closing the small tear with quick, nimble fingers. She heard the soft clink of the Mini bullet as it was dropped into a pan of water on the other side of the room.

"Huh, so small a thing to cause so much damage." the doctor mused quietly to himself.

They worked in silence for a time, Clarina stitching up the wound while Dr. Phelps cleaned the surgical instruments in a pot of hot water in the corner. Unlike other surgeons she had worked with, Dr. Phelps actually _believed_ in cleanliness and sterilization. That was probably why so many of his patients pulled through. She considered herself very lucky to have been placed in a hospital under the tutelage of such a diligent and surprisingly modern man.

The poor soldier before her had been a mess when they brought him in, with a bullet wound to the gut, and the beginnings of gangrene in one hand and a portion of his foot. They had been forced to amputate the hand and at least three of his toes before Dr. Phelps had even been able to get to the bullet wound. Even with such speedy treatment, there was no way to tell if they had removed all the rotten flesh. His foot was still red and inflamed in the areas they hadn't removed and Clarina wondered if he would be right back on this table in a day or two.

Looking at his smooth, sleeping face, she felt a wave of sympathy roll over her. He couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen years old, a child who had lied about his age to join the war effort. Who was he trying to support back home, she wondered? What circumstances had led him to where he was now?

"Bran will probably be cross with me for being late," Clarina mused out loud as she finished the closing stitch on the entry wound, "especially for a union soldier."

"Ah, so Mr. Thibodeaux is your mystery suitor." Dr. Phelps commented wryly. "I see your reluctance. He is a fine soldier, very brave, but has arrogance enough for ten men."

"He wasn't always that way," she sighed, rotating her neck to release the tension, "there was a time when he was kind and sweet, not at all like the man he is now. Sometimes it's like talking to a stranger."

"You've seen yourself what war can do to our men. Look at poor Reginald! I hazard a guess that his mind will never fully recover from the grip of war."

"I'm not convinced it's _that_ though," she argued, struggling to find words, "He seem to...enjoy the horrors of war. It's as though he's comfortable there. I don't know Dr. Phelps, sometimes it's like he's two people rolled into one and I never know which one I'm speaking to."

"Well, I already gave you the only advice I have to give, my girl. Marry the man or let him go but either way make sure that you are getting the better end of the deal, hm?"

"I suppose." She groaned, crossing her arms and frowning down at the child soldier on the table.

"Go home and get some rest, you've earned it." Dr. Phelps told her kindly. "I can have Ben and Matthew take him down to one of the beds."

"Are you certain?" She asked anxiously. "I don't have to rush off if you still need….

"My dear," he interrupted with an indulgent smile, "I appreciate your dedication but you cannot avoid your young man until the end of time. Go home, face him, let the cards fall where they will."

What could she do? Dr. Phelps was right, of course. So, Clarina washed up, donned her hat and coat, and rode home in the twilight. She didn't rush, merely let her horse take a strolling pace down the dirt road. They was hardly anyone about this time of evening so she allowed herself to sit astride the horse rather than the side saddle that was generally expected. Let anyone who saw her stare and gossip, she was too tired to care.

The night noises of the Bayou were just beginning as she made her way up the Oak lined drive. She could see the twinkling lights in the windows of Breeze Knolle, making the house look vastly cheerier than it actually was. She could save it if she just accepted Bran. Such an easy choice which could have such uneasy consequences. Her heart felt heavy as she made her way between the Spanish moss hung trees.

As she drew closer she could see Bran in one of the window of her mother's parlor, studying himself in the mirror as usual. He looked relaxed and refined, as though he belonged in that parlor. He certainly seemed to belong there more than she did.

"Evenin' Miss Clarina," Horatio, the wizened stable hand greeted as she rode up to the barn. He held up a withered black hand to help her down from the horse.

"Good Evening, Horatio." She greeted back tiredly.

"Long day?" He asked.

"You have no idea." She mumbled as she pulled off her riding gloves.

"Young massa been waitin' awhile," he commented quietly, "the missus done been keepin' 'im comp'ny.

"I'm sure she has." Clarina grumbled and then smiled at the man lest he think she was irritated with him.

"Yank did good today," she commented, patting the horse's flank, "You did a fine job with those new shoes."

Horatio glowed under her praise and they chatted a few more seconds before he took Yank into the stables for a rub down and a some oats. Clarina snuck in the side door of the kitchen so her mother wouldn't hear her coming in. Georgina and a few of the kitchen girls looked up in surprise to see her standing there.

"Good evening, Georgina", she greeted quickly, "might I borrow Eulalie for a moment? I need help getting changed?"

"Sho' thing, Miss Clarina," the old woman replied before snapping her fingers at Eulalie, who was cleaning some ash out of the fireplace with a broom, " Ya heard the young miss! Git up them stairs now, girl!"

Eulalie nodded and dropped a curtsey before proceeding up the servant stairs behind Clarina. It was only once they were in the main hall that the girl dared to speak.

"You alright there, Miss? You lookin' a might peaked?"

"I'm just tired." Clarina replied as they made their way into her bedroom. "I want nothing more than to go to bed but I think Mama will kill me if I don't at least _greet_ Mr. Thibodeaux."

"He been waitin' awhile. The missus sent fer some tea afore you come in." Eulalie informed her as she helped Clarina out of her work shift. After the uniform was folded and put away, Eulalie helped her pick out a gown of ruffled coral from the armoire.

It was a ball gown, a bit too fancy for a simple tea, but it felt wrong to face his proposal in only her blue sunday dress. Knowing Bran, he would expect her to put _some_ effort into her appearance. Once the dress and its hoops were attached, Eulalie helped curl her hair into fat corkscrews, piling the mass atop her head and holding them there with pins and pomade. She was the picture of southern gentility when the girl was finished.

"You be lookin' mighty pretty, Miss Clarina." Eulalie told her, satisfied with her own handiwork.

Clarina thanked the girl and then dismissed her as she tried to gather the courage to go down to the parlor. She felt more like she was going to the gallows than to a marriage proposal. She had to stand at her door for a few minutes before she could even find the wherewithal to turn the knob.

She forced her feet to walk out the door, made them carry her silently down the stairs, and then stood before the parlor door as though frozen in fear. Why was this so hard, she wondered? All she had to do was offer her conditions and if he said no, as she assumed he would, then she would reject his proposal. It would not solve the immediate problem of her father's debt, of course, but that would be a problem for another day. All she had to do was smile and open the blasted door.

Taking a deep breath to ground herself, Clarina forced a smile onto her face. She felt like she had to be grimacing as she pushed in the parlor door in.

"Mr. Thibodeaux." She greeted tightly.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **Here we are at Clarina's first POV chapter. There was quite a bit going on here. As you can probably tell (if you remember from the first version of the story), I made Dr. Phelps more likable here. In my original version, he was kind of a racist jack wipe so I decided to spend a bit more time on his relationship to Clarina. Somewhere along the line he transformed into a surrogate father figure, which wasn't what I intended but i'm gonna go with it. I see him as being somewhat impatient and stern but once he gets to know someone he's actually quite kind. He's probably going to come in and out of the narrative for a while but i'm not yet sure in what capacity.**

 **We also saw a little bit more of Eulalie in this chapter and in a slightly different light then we did in the previous one. I don't see Eulalie as a horribly _bad_ person, she just plain doesn't like Lyric ! XD She's gleefully thrilled that Lyric got taken down a peg and doesn't try to hide it. I don't think she has any serious problems with her employers, she likes Clarina well enough, so I used this chapter to throw some light on how she is in her normal day to day routines.**

 **We're also getting a bit more on Bran in this chapter and how he's perceived by those around him. His POV chapter will be next weeks update so we'll get deeper into his character there. I was thinking originally of uploading two chapters for next week but I don't think i'm going to need to now. Bran's chapter is pretty long and I think will hold up well enough on its own. When I originally wrote it, it was just a tiny snip-it before shifting into another POV. Then I went to edit and it exploded into its own chapter! Gotta love it when that happens! XD**

 **What else...Oh! The song Clarina sings to Reggie is called "Will the Circle be unbroken." I'm not entirely sure who wrote it originally, its been circulating for a number of years. My original research said it was a hymn sung during the civil war but then another round of research said it was written in 1912 so I'm a little fuzzy on its origins. I first heard it while playing Bioshock Infinite and thought it had a very civil war sound to it.**

 **Clarina's song for this chapter might sound a little funny considering it was a poppy 80's song originally. The one I used is sung much slower, its preformed by a spanish singer by the name of Alba Llibre Ruis. I think it fits nicely with Clarina's character and the slowness of this version went nicely with the pacing of the chapter.**

 **I think that's about it for things I needed to say, we're still going strong with once a week updates. As long as I can maintain a few chapters ahead of what i'm uploading we should be able to stick to that. Of course, now that i've said it i've jinxed myself! LOL**

 **Ok, guys! Thanks for reading and I will see you all next week :D**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

* * *

" _You've got your motive,_

 _you set the scene, so how about another taste_

 _or would you like to remind me why we're here,_

 _as I walk to the water to cleanse of the blood_

 _from my hands."-Wild at heart, Birds of Tokyo_

* * *

Branson Thibodeaux studied his reflection in the mirror set between the two east windows. He tried to smile pleasantly at the visage that stared back at him but only managed to muster a baring of the teeth. His own face had once been a source of comfort to him, back before the war and the noise and the death. It seemed that back then he could spend hours gazing into his own eyes or admiring the curl of his long lashes. He had fully appreciated the cut of his jaw and his strong nose. Now his features brought him little comfort as he gazed dismally at the strapping man before him.

 _Vanity_ _is a sin_ , he reminded himself. Hadn't the church told him as much his entire life? Of course, he _knew_ he shouldn't spend so much time admiring himself but, whenever there was a mirror nearby, he found himself doing just that. The difference now was, when he looked in the mirror it was not to admire _himself_ but, rather, to look for signs _Him_.

At least in mirrors Bran could see him coming, in mirrors he had some warning. Without the aid of a reflective surface, he could be taken by surprise at any moment, lose hours and even days at a time. It was terrifying to wake up and not know where he had been or what he had done. To find dried blood upon his hands and person and to not know where it had come from.

Outside, he could see sky turning purple with the onset of evening. There was a period of time when he loved the evenings, watching the sky turn yellow, then orange before finally fading into tones of rosy purple and indigo. He used to love the sounds of night too, the insects and frogs singing in the trees. Now the nights filled him with terror because night belonged to _Him_.

Again, Bran glanced into the mirror but there was no-one else in the parlor save for himself and Lady Harris. No black faced demon standing behind his shoulder with his nearly naked skull and his harsh, drawn features. He shivered at the very thought of that night walking demon.

"I am sure she will be home momentarily." Lisette commented from her place on the settee, taking the charged atmosphere for impatience on his part. Her shrill voice interrupted his sordid train of thought, causing him to jump slightly.

"That's quite alright, Lady Harris," he returned kindly, smiling over his shoulder at her, "I'll wait all night if I must."  
Lissette smiled happily at this and not, he knew, because she was terribly invested in him as a son in law. Oh, she was fond enough of him, having known him his entire life, but it was the money that he brought into the equation which interested her most. Her way of life was in serious jeopardy and the only thing that would save it was for her last born child to marry well.

Bran didn't appreciate being used in such a way but the matter was quite out of his hands. His father very much wanted the late John Harris' Sugarcane fields, as they were the largest, if not one of the most profitable, tracks of land in the region. Thibodeaux Sr. was willing to pay a steep price to acquire those lands and Clarina, as the youngest living legitimate daughter, was that price.

Bran, for his part, liked Clarina a great deal. He might even have loved her under different circumstances. He was, however, very apprehensive about bringing her into his life as it was now. His Dark Passenger was unpredictable, choosing inopportune moments to make his presence known. He would not have brought his demon into Clarina's world if he had any other options.

If he was honest however, he likely _had_ already brought his Dark Passenger into her world. Sometimes, she would hark back to a conversation they had had or something he had done which he had no recollection of. Bran fervently wished he could keep that part of himself from her but insistence from both their parents was making that impossible. No, they would have to marry whether either of them wanted it. He just hoped he could make the experience as easy and painless as possible.

"She is a wilful thing," Lissette continued, drawing her embroidery needle through the thin cloth of a pillowcase, "You will have your work cut out for you, young man. No doubt about that!"

That was what worried him and not because of Clarina's perceived willfulness. Left to his own devices he would let her be as wilful as she chose. He had no desire to deny her any privilege or token which might make her happy. What he worried for was her safety, what his demon might do in his stead.

He had recently come to think of this demon as 'The Painted Man'. Before the war, it had merely been his Dark Passenger, a voice that whispered to him to do awful things but one which he had always been able to ignore. Once he found himself immersed in the army though, once the noise and the gunsmoke and the horror of battle had erupted around him, The Painted Man had been well and truly born.

In some bizarre way, Bran owed everything he had become to his Dark Passenger. All the promotions, his very survival, all of it could be laid at the feet of The Painted Man. Without him, Bran would have surely died or walked into an enemy's bullet just to put an end to the entire nightmare. They existed on some kind of macabre, symbiotic, _need_ of one another and Bran wished for nothing more than to put an end to them both.

His first true hint of _him_ had been during a random scrimmage; when he had somehow known where to go, where to shoot, which way to turn, things that a pampered Plantation owner's son should not know. In the beginning, Bran assumed he just had a mind for strategic planning but as the war dragged on he began to suspect something else was going on, something far more sinister.

It started small; confusing incidents like finding bits of grey hair on himself when he would wake in the morning. Other times, he would find little spots of blood on his uniform, which he could not account for. He had fought several battles already, yes, but the spots were always too fresh, as though they magically appeared overnight. Then, a few weeks into the war, members of his unit began to vanish.

Initially, it was assumed that they had simply abandoned. All of them had been older men in their fifties to sixties, grey haired gentlemen who were, admittedly, too old to fight. There hadn't been many of them, maybe three total. It didn't become strange until not one of them showed up at home. Not a one of them was caught and tried for desertion. They just vanished into thin air, never to be heard from again. Bran paid little attention to any of it until he woke up one morning with his hands covered in dirt and blood. _That_ was when he truly began to fear.

The situation had taken its final, horrific turn, during one particularly bitter battle. Bran had taken a bullet to the arm, rendering it useless. They had been fighting in a rainstorm, making it hard to tell friend from foe in the sea of tangled bodies. He could still feel the wet mud against his knees as he sank into it, still feel the rain pouring all around him. He had been so tired. He had been ready to give up as he stared wearily into his enemies eyes.

" _Is this it_?" He recalled thinking as the soldier drew back his bayonet. " _Is this how it ends_?"

He had shut his eyes, prepared for death and then...he didn't know exactly. Suddenly, Bran felt himself dipping to one side, causing the Union soldier to stumble and miss. Then Bran, moving quick as lightning, pulled the soldier down into the mud and held him there, his knee against the man's back, as he drowned him.

It was awful to feel someone die beneath him, to feel his struggles as he held his face in the mud. For as long as he lived he would never forget those muffled cries and the bubbles that popped, _one, two, three_ , near the soldiers submerged head. Finally, after several agonizing minutes, the struggles slowed and ceased. The Union soldier lay still and quiet in the filthy, wet earth. Bran's hand had released him and pushed him away as though he meant nothing.

Then he had hopped to his feet and proceeded to kill his way through line after line of enemies. He did this despite his injured arm, killing men with their own knives, busting their heads in with the barrel of a rifle, it was as though he had become an unstoppable killing machine.

 _Raise a pistol, pull the trigger, boom, the enemy goes away!_

Bran had marched through the pouring rain and the gunfire as though invincible and he had done none of it on his own constitution. The Army had hailed him a hero for that battle, promoted him to the highest rank, that of Brigadier General, and sent him off to recover in a Confederate hospital. He had hoped the injury would be enough to send him home for good but the wound had been a clean one. He was now suffiently recovered as to be sent back to the front by the week's end.

"Does your arm still pain you?" Lady Harris queried when he grimaced and rotated the limb.

"Only when it's about to rain." He replied, giving her a teasing smile though the words were anything but. His arm always ached when rain was imminent, a constant reminder of that last battle.

"You showed such bravery," Lissette simpered, "we heard about it even here, how you rushed through the line and scared the enemy so badly they were forced to retreat! You are a true testament to your father and your Parish."

He had heard many a compliment like this, both before and after returning home. He didn't feel like a hero at all. There was nothing heroic about coldly cutting one's way through a line of men and then trampling on their dead bodies as though they were nothing. If anyone knew the truth, they would have locked him up and thrown away the key.

The reality was that he was a coward. He was too frightened to own to what he had done, too frightened to disobey The Painted Man. He knew he was responsible for his men's deaths, he knew it in his gut! He could feel it like an itch under the skin that he couldn't quite reach. He had even tried several times to tell someone but his demon always managed to arrest his tongue, making him as much a slave as those bought and sold at the auctioneer's block.

The disappearance of the older soldiers had been just the beginning for The Painted Man. In the quiet and solitude of the hospital, he had grown ever more restless, and the nightmare began all over again. Much like before, Bran had not paid much attention when the nurses complained that 'so and so' had not shown up for her shift. It was not until one particular nurse, a dark haired one named Sarah, fell victim to his Dark Passenger that he was forced to see it.

* * *

 _Bran blinked open his eyes and couldn't account for whereabouts. He could hear carriages going by outside, he could hear chatter from passersby's on the street, but the room felt hot and close and eerily silent._

 _He sat up with a groan, an odd meaty, metallic taste filling his mouth. He swallowed on a dry throat and squinted around the dingy, dusty room. Wherever he was, it was not his hospital room. This room belong to someone much poorer and downtrodden than himself. There were various women's undergarments hung to dry around the small space and the entire structure stunk of recently voided bowel and bladder. Bran wrinkled his nose against the stench as he slowly became aware that he gripped something cold and oddly moist in his left hand._

 _He glanced down and let out a strained cry to see an organ, more specifically a heart, sitting wetly in his palm. There was a small section of it missing, a hole with a clear indication of teeth marks marring the flesh. The odd taste in his mouth told him exactly where that bit of heart had gone and he gagged, throwing the thing and scampering away from it until his back collided with the wall. He sat there, chest heaving as he became aware of the sticky shirt that was stuck to his chest, the blood that was smeared all over his hands and face._

" _Oh god," he heard himself keening, "ohgodohgodohgod!"_

 _Those words jumbled together until they were a nonsensical mess that tumbled from his lips. What had he done? What had The Painted Man forced him do?_

 _ **She gave quite a fight**_ _, The Painted Man commented idly, "_ _ **your dark haired nurse.**_ "

 _Bran gasped, looking around as though he would actually find the demon in the room with him. He had never heard him speak so plainly before. He had always been more of an anti-conscience, telling him to do bad things rather than good._

" _Why did...when…" Bran stumbled over his own words, barely able to get them out over the frantic beating of his own heart._

 _In his panicked state, Bran just happened to glance toward the front part of the room. That was when he saw Sarah. She lay slumped over a table in the corner, a pool of blood spreading out beneath her to drip over onto the straw strewn floor below. She stared back at him through vacant, dead eyes, her mouth slightly open, as though she were about to speak._

 _ **She reminded us of someone**_ _. The Painted man continued flatly, as though the entire encounter were boring to him._

" _Us?" Bran repeated, sounding hysterical to his own ears._

 _ **Someone from long ago.**_ _The demon mused._

" _So you..killed her?" Bran demanded, swallowing the bile that was trying to rise in his throat. "You..you..ate her heart?!"_

 _ **I always eat their hearts**_ _. His demon replied simply._

 _Bran lost the battle with his stomach then. He rushed out the back door and purged what little was there. He felt like he retched forever before the waves of nausea finally subsided._

" _Did you kill the soldiers too?" he moaned, already knowing the answer. "Did you eat their hearts as well?"_

 _The Painted man gave no further response._

* * *

Bran shivered with the remembrance of that horrible event and tried to push such thoughts away. There had been nothing more he could do for Sarah, the sweet dark haired nurse who had made him laugh by telling him silly stories from where she grew up. He had been her doom from the moment he met her and, in the end, he was forced to leave her there in her in her home, slumped over the table.

Slowly, duly, Bran made his way back to the hospital, slinking through the back alleys and only stopping to burn his shirt in a fire barrel a couple of bums were gathered around. They looked at him questioningly as he tossed the bloody garment in but he hadn't stuck around to chat with them.

At the back of the hospital he had washed the remaining blood from his hands and face at the water pump, then silently made his way up to his private room. No one had missed him, as it was not unusual for him to take morning strolls, but they did miss Sarah. She was discovered two days later by one of the other nurses and he heard that her former beau was under suspicion for her murder.

By then, Bran was already back to Iberville Parish, reading about the sordid mess in the paper over breakfast. No one suspected him, no one was looking for him, but that did nothing to alleviate his guilt. Now, it was time to go back to war, where The Painted Man's tendencies would hopefully have a more appropriate outlet.

If there was a god, they would both be shot dead and there would be an end to this horrible nightmare. Bran had tried to do the deed himself but the demon had caught him at it and resigned him to that dark place in his own mind where there was no light, no sound, no company. He didn't know how long he had been there before the demon released him but he had little desire to go back again. He could only pray that a rebel bullet would dispatch the both of them.

He tried, in that moment, to picture only Clarina with her bright, jade eyes and her hauntingly lovely face. He pictured those kissable lips that he fervently wanted to be his but was terrified to try and claim. Before The Painted Man had become such a large facet of his personality he had harbored dreams of marriage to Clarina Harris. If she would have had him back then, he would have done his best to insure she never regretted it. Now he just prayed he wouldn't be the death of her too.

"If you'll excuse me, Bran," Mrs. Harris said then, interrupting his thoughts for a second time, "I'm feeling a bit poorly this evening." Lisette laid aside her needlework and rose to her feet, looking for all the world as though she were about to drop off the edge of it.

"I'll have Cosette bring in some tea for you while you wait." She offered wearily.

"That's very kind of you," Bran replied, inclining his head gratefully, "With any luck, we'll have some happy news with which to cheer you in the morning."

Lissette smiled at him affectionately then grimaced as though her head hurt. She gave him an apologetic face as she made her way to the parlor door.

"That would be most welcome." She responded tiredly. Then she stopped in the doorway as though a thought had occurred to her.

"If for some reason my daughter should reject you again, would you do me the courtesy of continuing your pursuit of her? I know she is stubborn but I _do_ believe that she has affection for you. I would hate to see you both miss out on something because of my daughters capricious nature."

 _Miss out on your money more like_ , The Painted Man's voice suddenly scoffed in his ear, _stupid fat cow!_

Bran swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. He tried to keep his expression and voice neutral as he replied.

"Have no fear, Lady Harris," even to him his voice sounded a bit hoarse, "I'm not so easily put off."

Lissette studied him quietly for a moment before giving a brief nod.

"Goodnight, Mr. Thibodeaux." She said and then she was gone, the door swinging slowly shut behind her.

Bran returned to the mirror, hoping and praying that The Painted Man would not choose _this_ moment to emerge.

"Please, not this night!" he pleaded quietly with himself. "Not here, not now!"

He didn't like the idea of his demon being present around Clarina. He didn't like to think what might happen if he was not aware enough to keep him under control.

 _I think we should dispense with the Fat Mother when we rule this place,_ his demon commented idly, _She is slow and frail, it would not be difficult._

Bran felt his blood run cold at such open thoughts of murder. He might not adore Lisette Harris but he had no desire to see her dead and certainly not by his own hand. The Painted Man paid his shocked thoughts no mind as he continued musing over his options.

 _A pillow to the face while she sleeps_ , the demon suggested, _not the most exciting kill but certainly an efficient one._

It was with terrified resignation that Bran reached down for the revolver attached at his belt. He hardly thought as he loaded it with the mini bullet, lest The Painted Man realize what he was about to do and stop him. With shaking hands, he raised the mouth of the revolver to his temple, wishing he could do this anywhere else but in the parlor of his intended's home.

 _What are you up to, hm?_ The demon asked, interrupted from his murdering reverie by the feel of cold metal at Bran's temple.

 _Come now,_ The Painted Man said cajolingly, Bran could almost feel the demons condescending smile. _How many times must we go down this road? You know you won't follow through._

Bran felt his hands trembling, the muzzle of the revolver shifting ever so slightly from its place against his temple. He wanted to pull the trigger, he _needed_ to, if for no other reason than to put an end to the nightmare his life had become. Even as he had that thought, he saw The Painted Man behind him in the mirror. He saw him leaning to whisper in his ear as that dark hand came up to grasp his where it held the pistol. He felt his finger twitch involuntarily away from the trigger.

 _You can't,_ that deep, soft voice continued, _because you know there's still so much more to be done._

"Please," Bran pled, sobbing and hating himself for the weakness, "Please just let me go."

 _I'm part of you._ The Painted Man replied. Branson felt that invisible hand grasping his where he held the gun to his head, he felt his arm lowering, the gun sliding away.

 _You want what I want._

"No, no…" Even as he denied him, Branson's resolve was faltering, as it always did when the demon began to speak.

 _Put down the gun,_ the voice commanded gently, _Lay it on the sideboard._

He did. God help him but he had no choice but to obey the Demon's command. He watched his hand as it shakily lowered the weapon. He tried to stifle a hiccuping sob as his fingers released it, sniffing and fighting back the fear and terror that was running rampant through his body.

 _I think it's time I took the reins again._ The voice told him soothingly. _You need time to collect yourself, time to reflect._

The Painted Man's voice was so gentle and soothing that Bran felt himself sinking into oblivion despite his desire to hold onto himself. He knew he didn't _want_ to be resigned to that black, soundless place where he had no sense of anything that was going on around him, where he didn't know what he said or did.

 _Rest._ The voice commanded gently. " _Let me carry the burden for a while._ "

Despite himself, Bran was slipping. He felt himself sinking as though into a warm bath and though he wanted to fight against it, he could not. With a resigned sigh he slid away and The Painted man, now unencumbered, stepped into his skin.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **I had several people ask if Bran was Duncan or Magua before I uploaded this chapter. I guess the way i would answer that is that he's Magua but he has some Duncan-like qualities. I didn't intend to have a Duncan character for this story but Bran sort of became a Magua/Duncan hybrid during the writing process lol. I guess you could say that Duncan inserted himself into the story despite my intention to keep him out of it. XD**

 **I actually ended up liking Bran more than i thought I would as I was writing this chapter. I don't think he's a bad person at heart but he _does_ have a serial killer living in his head so he has no real choice or control over what's happening to him. We'll get more into that in the next chapter since that one will be from Magua's POV. **

**I didn't intend to have any other POV's besides Lyric, Caleb, Clarina, and the Magua/Bran dynamic but, as I was writing the original version of this chapter, I felt like the shift was too jarring as it was. Originally, Bran was only there for that first mirror bit and the last chunk where he tries to shoot himself before immediately shifting into Magua. I reread it and decided there needed to be more on how Bran felt about what was happening around him.** **I mean, we've already seen how Lyric perceives Bran, and how Clarina perceives him, but hadn't gotten into how he sees himself. Because he and Magua are two separate entities inhabiting the same body, it felt important to show that here (we'll also see more of it in the next chapter).**

 **Moving on to songs, the one for this chapter is Wild at Heart by birds of Tokyo. I choose it because it felt like it was about someone who is struggling with themselves. Bran is doing an awful lot of that in this chapter. I wish i had more Bran songs on my playlist but I tend to build the lists slowly as i write so he may get the shaft in that department for a while (Saul too, who only has 1 so far XD).**

 **Special Thanks to Mohawk Woman for giving me some advice on how to handle Bran's actions plot wise. I try to keep things as realistic as I can (Supernatural stuff not withstanding) and you are a HUGE help in the history department. Thanks for historical information on confederate vs union prison camps too! :D**

 **Ok, guys, I think I covered what I wanted to cover for now. Still going strong for next weeks update too! I had considered uploading two chapters for this week but that was when Bran's was shorter. Since his and Magua's POV both ended up being rather long, we'll just stick to the regular uploading schedule.**

 **Once again, thanks for reading and the reviews and i will see you all next time!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6**

* * *

 **Warning! Possible minor triggers ahead!**

* * *

 _Burning on, just like a match you strike_

 _to incinerate the lives of everyone you know._

 _And what's the worst you take_

 _From every heart you break?_

 _And like the blade you stain,_

 _well, I've been holding on tonight!-Helena, My Chemical Romance_

* * *

The Painted Man rotated his head this way and that, adjusting to the sensation of The Boy's limbs and the sudden heaviness of his clothes. There was always a brief, overwhelming period when he took control, as he was not accustomed to certain sensations whilst a passenger in The Boy's mind. The vast majority of the time he could only _hear_ what was said around him but not touch anything or interact with anyone. Now that he was in control, he had to adjust to the weight of the army uniform on his arms and shoulders, the scratchiness of the cotton shirt beneath. He had to adjust himself to the beating of his own heart, the feelings of hunger or fullness. Even the sensation of having to take a piss was a novelty.

Odors were usually the first thing to invade his newly opened senses. This time, what he detected was an acidic smelling polish of some sort, perhaps a varnish used on the shining furniture? Under this was the piney smell of wood, crackling away in the fire place and, under that, the barest hint of oily sweat lingering in the air. He used to immediately sneeze upon taking control but repetition was making that that less of a problem. Still, he had to wrinkle his nose against the dust and mold that always seemed to accumulate in these in-closed spaces.

He took another deep breath to ground himself as he flexed The Boy's fingers and straightened his spine until there was an audible crack. Finally, after what felt like hours, he opened The Boy's eyes. A pale, waxen face with a head full of penny colored curls peered back at him from the tall mirror. Despite the fact that this was the only face he had ever seen, The Painted Man was very much aware that it was _not_ his own. Indeed, he couldn't begin to fathom what his face was supposed to look like. He knew very little about _himself_ at all.

Memories of any kind were fleeting. Sometimes, he would have flashes, like lightning in a dark room. He would see a woman's face, broad and happy, as she smiled back at him. Sometimes he would see a dark haired baby grinning up at him toothlessly. He did not know who either of them were. They seemed to belong in another time and place, memories of a life he no longer had. He wondered sometimes if they had been his wife and child but, as further flashes of memory were not forthcoming, he was forced to let the mystery remain just that.

Studying The Boy's features for a heartbeat more, The Painted Man turned back to the discarded pistol lying forgotten on the sideboard. He picked it up, _tsking_ to himself and shaking his head as he replaced it in the holster at his belt. Whatever was he going to do with him if The Boy continued to pull stunts like this? If it were possible to kill him The Painted Man would have done it long ago but, as it stood, the two seemed to have a mutual need of one another. The Boy provided a framework for the Painted Man to move among the masses and The Painted Man kept them alive during the war. That was all there was to it.

Still, he found that his foothold over The Boy was fleeting. It had never been stronger than it was during battle. In the past, he had only been able to influence him during times of great anger or great stress but the war, the war had damaged The Boy's psyche enough that The Painted Man could take control more frequently. _He_ was the reason The Boy had climbed the ranks of the army so quickly. _He_ was the reason they hadn't died a trembling mess in the stinking swamps. War was were The Painted Man's shined and he longed to return to it as soon as this 'proposal business' was over and done with.

"Oh, Good evening, Bran!" A voice greeted from the parlor doorway. The Painted Man froze, taken aback by the rich and velvety cadence of it.

He turned just as a dark skinned girl stepped quietly into the parlor. She was not the one they had come to see but appeared to know The Boy nonetheless. The Painted Man did not recognize her at all. She was not the sort The Boy usually associated with.

He studied her from head to toe and felt something unusual as he took her in, almost an itch that resonated through his entire being. It might simply have been his unusual proclivity rising to the surface, the need to dispatch dark haired females of a certain build and height. He had no inkling as to _why_ he felt such a compulsion to kill them but, when it arose, it could not be ignored. The pattern was always the same; Stab them, cut out the heart, watch the light leave their eyes, and then devour the organ. He followed a similar pattern with the Grey Hairs but felt a lesser sense of completeness at the end. No, it was the Dark Hairs that truly made him burn and this girl certainly fit the description of those he hunted.

 _How strange_ , he thought to himself, _This one is much prettier than the dark girls who serve in The Boy's great household._

Much like the female they had come to see, this one's features were finely sculpted but she appeared much more exoctic, making him wonder if they were in some way related. A quick perusal of The Boys memories told him that she was indeed an 'illegitimate daughter' of the late Mr. Harris. Why would this smoke colored girl speak to The Boy so informally, he wondered, when many of the other dark ones avoided him completely? Then again, The Painted Man was not typically in attendance for most of these encounters so perhaps this interaction was not so out of the ordinary.

"Good Evening!" He greeted back in The Boy's soft drawl. "What a pleasant surprise! How are you?"

"Well enough." She replied slowly, those fine dark brows rising as though his greeting were somehow unusual. Had he had overdone it with the affluence of his words? The only memory he could find of this girl was of a street meeting from several years back and The Boy had been friendly enough with her then. The Painted Man could not account for her skepticism now.

"Are you waiting for Clarina?" She queried, visibly shaking off whatever suspicions his greeting had raised.

"Yes, yes," The Painted Man replied, unable to hide the boredom he was feeling, "she does like to keep a man waiting, doesn't she?"

"Well, she's not quite home from the hospital, you see." the girl supplied, still eying him with that same strange expression.

"Ah! Well, you'll just have to keep me company until she returns then." He said with a smile that he hoped was inviting enough.

He felt an irresistible pull towards the female and he couldn't account for it. This truly was different from his usual compulsion for dark haired women. He did not want to _kill_ this one, he realized, he wanted to _know_ her. Was this what lust, felt like?

"I don't think that Mrs. Harris would like that very much." The girl commented, looking nervously back at the open door.

Ah, so she was not entirely welcome in the house? Now _that_ was fascinating! The Painted Man moved The Boy's body closer to her, peering into that lovely face, still trying to figure out what was so damn intriguing about her.

"Well, we'll just have to agree to not tell her then, won't we?" He murmured silkily.

The girl's eyes widened at the sudden intimate closeness, those full lips falling open as she took in a sharp breath. The Painted Man continued gazing into her almond shaped, honey toned eyes when something about them caught his attention. Had he not been so startled, he might not have reacted the way he did. Instead, he found the boy's hand reaching out to grasp her chin, tilting her head up to get a better look at those eyes.

The contact with flesh on flesh caused something deep inside him to stir. It was like the flutter of a bird, waking up from a long sleep and ruffling its feathers. It shivered down his spine, tickling against the skin, and with it came a sudden and abrupt recognition. A word came to him, unbidden, as though it had been waiting under the surface for him to discover it.

 _Moon Hair._

He had the lightning flash sensation again. He saw a girl with pale skin, almost the color of snow and silver hair, staring back at him from across a short divide. He beckoned to her but the girl, whose gaze was level and calm, stepped away from him. She disappeared into an expanse of blue sky, falling, falling away. He felt himself gasp with the intensity of the sudden memory. When it ended, he was left with something else, not a memory like the other had been, but a name. A name that he knew, despite all logic, was his own.

The name was _Magua._

Coupled with these two words was an altogether different feeling, one of ownership that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He knew in some inexplicable way, that this dark girl before him was the _Moon Hair_. More than that, he knew that she _belonged_ to him. Not to The Boy but to _him_ , to Magua, to The Painted Man.

To The Boy, she was merely a friendly acquaintance, someone he had encountered long ago and insulted in some fashion. The Boy merely meant to make reparations. Magua meant to have her. In what sense though, he could not say. It felt different than lust or even the conquest he felt for the other girl, Clarina. It was more a feeling of knowing that this girl was _his_ , that she had been given to him long ago.

He leaned in to search her eyes for further clues. No other words or recollections came to him but what he did discover were flecks, little blue flecks the color of cornflower, dotting her iris. They were small, almost imperceptible, unless one was looking as closely as he was. Magua wanted to crawl into her eyes because he knew the answers to who he was were in there.

" _Eskoyen', waugh ya._ " Magua murmured in a language that belonged to another time and place.

The Moon Hair ripped her face from his hand and took a few, stumbling steps backwards. She looked frightened, her chest heaving and her complexion turning ashen in that dusky face.

"You're not Bran," she hissed, backing up to the door. "Who _..._ what _are_ you?!"

Magua watched her, his interest more peaked than ever. Their contact had shown her something as well but, unlike him, her Passenger was not as much on the surface. She knew something but was unwilling to give what she knew a name.

"Well, I'm sorry you can't stay longer, Miss…" The boys memories showed him her name, "...Lyric, but it's been nice chatting with you. Please, let's do this again soon."

She backed up to the door, eyes wide as though beholding the devil himself. She swallowed audibly before turning on her heel and fleeing from the room completely. Magua stared at the place she had been for a long time and thought how he was going to enjoy being Master of this Plantation after all.

In the remaining time he had to himself, Magua mused more over the mystery of the Moon Haired girl. Certainly there had been nothing moon like about her vessel. She had been as dark of hair as any he had thus far dispatched. How he would delight in teasing the _Moon Hair_ out of the girl's dusky skin.

The arrival of a serving girl with some tea interrupted his train of thought. He studied her as she laid the tray silently on the sideboard. He watched the flash of her throat as she breathed and took note of the one stray, dark curl that peeked out of her Tignon. She dropped him a curtsey and he felt that familiar need rising in him once again.

When was the last time he had scratched the itch? Had it been the little dark haired nurse at The Boy's hospital? If so, then it had been several weeks. He let his eyes trail the girl as she left the parlor as silently as she had arrived. The tea grew cold in its shining silver pot as Magua planned. He had no interest in the steaming, fragrant herbs that would likely taste like a steel fence.

He would search out the serving girl later, he decided, when the house was quiet and everyone was asleep. If he were lucky, he could catch her on the way to the slave quarters and once again scratch that familiar itch. He was just glancing silently out the window again when the door behind him suddenly squeaked open.

"Mr. Thibodeaux." A woman's voice greeted tightly.

Magua looked over his shoulder with a mix of irritation and relief that they could _finally_ get on with what The Boy had come here for to begin with. Clarina Harris dropped him a small curtsy as she came into the room and any words of chastisement he might have had all but dried up in his throat.

She was indeed an exquisite creature to behold. It was as though she had been carved by a sculptor's hand; from the slope of her elegant nose to the shape of her full, heart shaped lips, Clarina was a thing of beauty. She stood before him in a coral gown that dipped just low enough in the front to show the gentle swell of her tight breasts. The slightly ruffled sleeves stopped high up on her arms, leaving her gloveless arms naked before him. The dress cinched tightly at the waist and fell into ruffles at the bottom of her rather large skirt.

She looked uncomfortable in the finery, fidgeting with the skirt where the coral ruffles were gathered on the side. The dress beneath was as white as snow and made her shimmer in the flickering lamp light. His nose detected just the barest hint of lilac wafting over from her shining skin. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy it before giving her a small bow.

"Good evening, Miss Clarina." He drawled huskily in The Boy's soft voice.

She glanced up at him through her long lashes, those pale green eyes darting to his before looking back down again. Magua didn't understand the coquettish games these pale girls played with their men. Still, he was determined to maintain the delusion for as long as necessary. This girl was a great prize, after all, and not just for the boy with his idealistic love for her. Magua enjoyed the idea of conquering such a woman.

Looking at her now, as she stood before him, he longed to know what she would look like underneath him. Would she still have that haughty defiance when her coral dress was pushed up to her waist and his manhood was buried inside her? Would those jade eyes flash with fear or defiance? He ached with the need to find out, an unusual sensation for one such as him.

Clarina reminded Magua of a beautiful, albeit wild, horse, the kind that was a challenge to break but could be with the right amount of persistence. She was stubbornness and willfulness incarnate. She would never give herself willingly over to any man who showed mild interest. No, she would have to be dominated and he was just the man to do it.

"I do apologize for keeping you waiting for so long," she said contritely, "There was an emergency surgery at the hospital. I was not immediately presentable upon returning home and-"

"I do hope this 'emergency' was for a Confederate soldier and not a Union one." Magua cut her off tersely.

He tolerated her need to tend to the wounded, even respected it, but he could not abide the thought of those perfect hands on an enemy's flesh. It was a bit of a failing, he supposed, on his part, a possessiveness, and he was aware she did not appreciate this aspect he brought to The Boy's personality. Despite his need to 'play his part', he found himself unable to keep his jealousy under wraps.

"For your information he _was_ a Confederate soldier," Clarina shot back defiantly, her voice growing richer in anger and her green eyes flashing, "but it wouldn't have mattered! I would have treated him regardless."

Magua gritted his teeth to bite back an angry retort. He needed to quell his temper if he wanted her to acquiesce to his proposal. If he allowed her her way now, she would be more amenable in the future. Once she was firmly seated as The Boy's wife he could do as he pleased.

"Yes, I suppose you must." He replied as genially as he could muster. His sudden change of tone must have shifted something in her because she let out a quiet sigh and rubbed at her forehead with her fingers.

"I'm sorry, Bran." She apologized tiredly. "I fear that I will be poor company tonight."

"That's quite alright." Magua returned, channeling the boys charm as best he could. This was one of those moments where he would have been happier to hand his vessel the reigns but, as it stood, the boy could barely form a cohesive sentence let alone propose to the girl. No, Magua would have to do this for both of them.

"I merely came to ask you a question," he continued nonchalantly, "once I have your answer I will leave you to rest."

"I know what you are going to ask, Bran." She replied as she walked over to stand near the fireplace. The light from the candles reflected off of her chestnut curls, giving her a pleasant halo effect.

"Before you do," she continued, "I must tell you that Dr. Phelps has offered to help me become a doctor. I mean to take him up on the offer so, if you wish to marry me, I have some conditions."

This was not how Magua expected this conversation to go. He knew that the Fat Mother would have told her what The Boy was prepared to offer, that he was willing to pay off her father's considerable debt and keep them in the lap of luxury that they were accustomed to. Considering how most of these powdered, arrogant people lived, Magua assumed a promise of continued wealth would be all she required.

"First and foremost, I wish to be allowed to continue my work at the hospital," she told him baldy, "without fear of your reaction should I treat a Union soldier."

The first part bothered him less than the second, as he would be at war and could exude little control over her comings and goings. The second part would be a taller order.

"Second," Clarina continued when he didn't immediately cut her off, "I want to continue my work when the war ends and becoming a doctor is part of that. If you cannot abide any of this then I suggest we should part company here and now."

"And what of your father's debt?" He reminded her, his voice surprisingly even.

Her face tightened for a fraction of a second and he knew that she didn't like his reference to it. Perhaps she thought she could pay it off herself with her minimal nurses wages and whatever she hoped to get from this foolish doctors scheme? Either way, she had to know that it would not be paid off in her lifetime without help from an outside source.

"I'd figure something out." She stated with an obvious lack of conviction.

It occurred to Magua that all he had to do in this moment was agree to her ridiculous conditions. He didn't know if that was what The Boy would do but The Boy was infatuated with her enough that it would not have surprised him. It was not technically _himself_ who would be making such a promise either and Magua would be at his leisure to break it at any moment.

"Alright," he said with a firm nod that appeared to visibly startle Clarina, "I agree to your conditions."

"Y-you do?" She obviously had not expected him to make it that easy. He couldn't tell if she was pleased by the outcome or not.

"I do. I will be away for long periods as the war continues and I would hate for you to have nothing with which to occupy your days. My only stipulation is this; should you find yourself pregnant, you will hold off on this 'Doctor plan' until the babe is born."

The mention of an eventual child made her flush a bit red but he held her gaze. He intended to get her with child as quickly as possible and keep her that way for as long as was necessary. She did not need to know this however so he came forward to take both of her hands in his. Her posture went rigid with the sudden closeness.

"Do we have an agreement, Miss Harris?" He asked her softly.

She pulled her mouth into a line and and sucked in the side of her cheek as she took a deep breath. He could see the thoughts swirling behind those jade colored eyes as she weighed her options, which were admittedly not many. He was patient, he gave her time to consider. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she nodded.

"Yes, Mr. Thibodeaux," she said quietly, her voice thick with resignation, "We have an agreement."

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **Dun dun duuuuuuuuun! Magua has made his appearance! You've probably figured out by now that he's much more on the surface than either Alice and Uncas. I see him as more of a forceful personality so, when i did the rewrite, i decided to make him 'take over' more than the other two. I also made him more like a serial killer in this story but i think a lot of that comes down to not remembering _why_ he has these compulsions. Magua seems to recall his motivations in a limited sense (I.E. Kill the grey hair and his seed) but has no context for it. The heart eating i added because of a line in the movie where Magua is talking to Montclalm and states that he's going to 'Kill the Grey Hair and eat his heart.' ****For some odd reason, when I first saw the film at the age of 12, i thought he DID eat Munroe's in that scene. Subsequent viewings show that to not have been true but the line stuck with me so I incorporated it here.**

 **I also wanted to change his view of Alice/Lyric from someone he wanted to kill to someone who belonged to him. I'm sure there's lust in there somewhere but i see it as more of a 'this is mine' situation. It should also play in nicely later, when Caleb comes into the equation.**

 **What else? Oh, the line Magua says in the other language is Huron for 'Hello, moon girl." I had a really hard time finding any Huron I could actually use and this was the closest i could find.**

 **On to the music. I went with Helena by My Chemical Romance for this chapter. The song itself was actually written for the singers grandmother. Every time i listened to it, i just saw Magua burning his way out of Bran and taking control. It's a pretty upbeat little number and a song I've enjoyed listening to for many years now.**

 **Next chapter will see us back to Lyric. I'm not sure how many Magua specific chapters I'm going to write yet. i like to rotate the character POV so we'll just have to see when and where he pops up again. Like I said last time, he wasn't originally going to have a chapter separate from Bran's but he had so damn much to say that i ended up having to give him one anyway! XD**

 **Again, thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that everyone seems to enjoy the rewrite as much as I do. I'm still keeping my pacing and weekly updates despite another story that is prodding me for page time (Mohawk Woman knows which one i'm talking about XD). So I will leave you with this chapter and see you all next week! Happy reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7**

* * *

" _The only solution was to stand and fight_

 _And my body was bruised and I was set alight_

 _But you came over me like some holy rite_

 _And although I was burning,_

 _You're the only light"-Only If For A Night, Florence + the Machine_

* * *

Lyric was dreaming.

She knew it because what was happening filled her with such a sense of deja vu that it could be little else. It was not, however, the Lighthouse dream that she had grown accustomed to for so many weeks now. Rather, it was a replaying of the night her mother died.

She was walking on a dirt path. It led her between the moss hung trees of the Bayou, towards the warm light of the shack she shared with the other girls. There was nothing of interest around the path; no other shacks spread out down the row, no great house rising in the distance. It was merely one dilapidated structure, sitting on its own, at the end of a trail. Had this not been a dream she would have been aware of sounds or smells in the area around her but since it was, she senses nothing.

She was scarcely aware of her own heartbeat as she walked silently down that dusty road. Lyric knew she did not want to go there, not to that warmly lit place with its candles dancing merrily in the windows. She knew what awaited her once she climbed those stairs and opened that door, despite the shacks overwhelmingly picturesque appearance. Her feet would not obey her, however. They carried her, oh so slowly and against her will, up that dusty road.

She fought against it but she might as well have been fighting the current of a river or the strength of ten burly men. It was as though invisible hands were gripping her arms and shoulders, pulling her forward though she dug in her heels and struggled mightily against them. Tears ran down her cheeks as she approached the rickety steps. She didn't want to go up them, she didn't want to relive it again, but she was powerless to resist as her feet lifted one at a time and began to climb the creaking stairs.

"Please!" She pled on the first step.

"Please, not again!" On the second.

By the time she reached the top, and her hand was grasping the doorknob, she was openly weeping. Her tears did nothing to sway whatever forces that were determined to make her remember. Her hand twisted the knob and, slowly, the door swung inward.

The scene that met her eyes was no different than before; her mother's lifeless body lay facedown on the cold floor, arms butterflied out as though she had tried to stop her descent and had failed. All that long dark hair, so much Like Lyrics, was spread around her head like a dark halo. Lyric fell to her knees next to her mother, sobbing, as she reached out to lay a hand on her cold back.

" _Manman! Tenpri Manman_ …" she sobbed brokenly. "Please come back, please don't leave me here alone!"

She was so engrossed in her own anguish that she wasn't immediately aware of footsteps on the porch outside. It wasn't until she heard the sound, an almost imperceptible intake of breath, that Lyric whipped her head around.

Standing uncertainty in the doorway was a man, he took in the scene with a horror equal to her own and appeared just as surprised to be there as she was to see him. His eyes were wide in his tanned face and yet Lyric could detect something strangely compassionate in his dark eyes.

Whoever this stranger was, he was tall and of Indian descent, wearing the colors of a Union soldier. He wore his black hair long and it curled slightly where it tumbled about his face and shoulders. Those compassionate eyes lowered to meet hers and she discovered they were the warm shade of melted chocolate. A sudden memory boiled to the surface, of something her mother had said to her as a young girl.

" _When you are a woman, Lyric, try to find a man wit clear blue eyes because he will never be able to hide anyting from you."_

As she looked at the man before her she thought, whoever said that brown eyes could not be as beautiful or honest as any other color had never seen eyes such as these. Those brown eyes were beautiful to her, almost magnetic, and though she knew absolutely nothing about him or who he was, she knew that he would never lie to her.

Feeling stupid, Lyric shook herself out of whatever spell his sudden appearance had cast and opened her mouth to speak, to _demand_ to know why he was there. _Manman_ moved before she could get out the first syllable.

A cold hand suddenly shot out to take a hold of Lyric's wrist in an iron-like grip. Lyric let out a strangled cry, pulling away, as her mother's white eyes turned up to glare blindly at her. _Manman's_ frozen jaw cracked in an attempt to move, the bones grinding on one another as she spoke.

"Hey!" The man behind her yelled out in warning. Lyric was so frozen with fear that she couldn't move.

"Alice," _Manman_ rasped, her once melodic voice now a horrible, misconstrued drawl, "Aliiiiiiiiiceeeeeeee…"

"No, No!" Lyric screamed, trying to back away. Her mother's head jerked and twisted on her shoulders in a macabre, ghoulish sort of way.

"Let her go!" The man demanded behind her, grunting as though someone or something were holding him back.

"You can't help her here." Another deeper, male voice responded firmly.

Lyric tried to turn around, tried to see who else was in the room and keeping her soldier from coming to her aid. Later she would wonder at those words, _her soldier_ , but for now all of her attention was focused on the corpse that wore her mother's face. It held her in place as it dragged itself upwards, using her body as leverage, to pull it's lifeless body upright. The monstrosity all but crawled up Lyric's chest, placing it's face even with her own.

"Must come out now," _Manman's_ corpse croaked horribly, "Aliiiiice...must wake up..."

"Let me go! I'm not..who..who's Alice?!" Lyric stammered and cried, pulling for all she was worth against the corpses tight hold. It did her no good.

"Lovers and children and copper and tin…" _Manman's_ corpse mocked in a horrible sing-song version of Lyric's voice, a discordant version of the song she had sung earlier that day. Then it cackled before clamping her face with those cold, dead hands.

"Poor lamb," it suddenly crooned, "Poor little soul….she's coming, you know...the _other_ one."

"Who?" Lyric whispered back, shaking and barely able to force the words out through her frozen lips.

"You know…" Manman replied teasingly, "or you will…"

" _Tenpri_ , _Manman…_ " Lyric pled, "Please..this isn't you!"

"Let her go!" The man shouted again from the doorway. The corpse wearing her mother's face simply gave a girlish giggle before leaning in close.

"Time to wake up now." It commanded quietly. Lyric could only stare back, trembling.

"WAKE UP!" Manman shouted in an ear piercing scream.

* * *

"Wake up!" Delphine all but shouted in her ear. Lyric shot up with a strangled cry, narrowly missing knocking her head into her friend's teeth. All around her, the other girls peered questioningly. Some looking irritated at having been woken up, others looking concerned, though most were merely curious.

"Oh god," Lyric groaned, scrubbing at her cheeks as the remnants of that horrible dream flashed through her mind. She could still feel _Manman's_ cold, clammy fingers where they had been gripping her face. She could still see her milky, dead eyes as she called her by a name that was not her own, and then there was the horribly discordant singing! Lyric pressed a hand against her mouth, trying to suppress the sudden urge to vomit.

"It's alright, Miss Lyric," Delphine said soothingly as she rubbed the girl's back, "It twere jus' a dream."

Tears were still streaming down her face. She was unable to get her nerves under control. She quaked with the memory of it all, everything had been so vivid and grisly. It was unlike any dream she had thus far had. It had felt more like a warning than a nightmare.

 _But of what_ , she asked herself, _of what?_

 _Poor lamb,_ her mother's dead voice croaked in her memory. _She's coming, you know...the_ _ **other**_ _one._

 _Who,_ she heard herself whispering back.

 _You know...or you will!_

Lyric could fight the urge to vomit no longer. She hopped up from the pallet and ran for the shack door, falling down the last few steps as she purged what little food she had eaten into the dense shrub. She was dimly aware of someone coming outside to stare over the railing at her. She could almost feel their eyes boring into her back.

"This is gettin' ridiculous, ya know," a derisive voice commented from somewhere above, "Some o' us would like ta sleep!"

"Oh, hush yo' mouth, Eulalie!" Delphine snapped angrily as she too came out. There was an audible hiss of anger from the other girl as Delphine, presumably, muscled past her.

"A little compassion never hurt nobody." She scolded as she rushed down the steps to pull Lyric's hair back from her face as she was sick all over again.

The retching felt like it went on forever. A constant heaving that purged the small dinner of pork and cornmeal, then bile, and finally nothing at all. When it subsided, she took deep breaths of the humid night air, waiting for the cold shakes that were wracking her body to cease.

"You lookin' mighty peaked, Miss Lyric," Delphine commented as she laid a gentle hand against her friend's forehead. "Maybe you outten' ta rest today?"

"I...I'm fine Delphine," she replied as _finally_ the adrenaline rush began to ebb off, "the dream was just so vivid and gruesome."

"The Lighthouse one?" The other girl asked, worriedly.

" _Non_ ," Lyric shook her head, "This one was different. It was about _Manman's_ death and there was this man, a soldier and…" She trailed off, unable to revisit the horrors of the dream just yet.

"Suffice it to say it was awful." She finished tiredly.

"You was kickin' up quite a ruckus." Delphine told her gravely. "I couldn't wake you up none a' first."

"I couldn't wake myself up at first." Lyric mumbled back.

"Des dreams be gettin' bad. Maybe we outten go see da old Voodoo woman?"

"Voodoo woman?" Lyric repeated. Delphine nodded.

"She live out at da edge of da quarter. Too old to work no more so da other slaves look after her. She might be able to give you some answers."

Lyric bit the side of her lip as she considered what her friend was suggesting. A few days ago she would have laughed at such a notion but she certainly wasn't laughing now. With all the strange things she was experiencing; the hallucination in Clarina's bedroom, the encounter with Bran from the night before...something unnatural was indeed happening to her! Still, was she really prepared to put her faith in the practices and religion she had being trying thus far to avoid?

The rituals she had seen her mother perform growing up had been frightening at times. She had watched her fall on the floor and writhe whilst speaking a language that Lyric had never heard before. Other times she had gone so still and quiet that Lyric feared she would never return. She had promised herself that when she was grown she would leave all of that behind and here she was now, considering the answers that magic and folklore _might_ provide.

"I'll think about it Delphine," she conceded as the girl helped her to her feet, "I will."

"Best not tink about it too long, if someone puttin' roots on you it gonnta git bad quick!"

Lyric didn't have a response to that. She wasn't ready quite yet to throw herself feet first into that world. All magic, whether it good or ill, came with some kind of price and Lyric wasn't sure she was was ready or willing to pay that price.

Delphine helped her back to bed but there was very little sleep to be had that night. If she wasn't fixating on the nightmare then she was thinking about the soldier, _her soldier_ , she thought again with a little jolt of surprise. She didn't even know if he was real, she didn't know how he _could_ be real, yet in some indefinable way she knew he was...hers. Lyric lay awake until the wee hours of the morning, musing over that concept, until the morning sunlight chased her out of bed again.

As she dressed, she felt miserably sluggish, and thought about taking Delphine's advice about staying in for the day. The problem was that she really needed to speak with Clarina about her encounter with Bran from the night before. She would have spoken to her the previous evening, when everything was still fresh in her mind, but by the time she had made it up to her sister's room she was already fast asleep.

The encounter in the parlor had left Lyric nearly as shaken as the bizarre nightmare had. Whoever that was wearing Bran's skin was most decidedly _not_ Bran! She didn't know _how_ she knew it exactly but she did. She felt it deep in her bones, like an ache that persisted even when the wound was healed. The man staring back at her had been cold, imperious, almost like a statue brought to life and not at all like the kind young man who had tried to make amends to her in the rain.

She knew from previous conversations that the war had damaged Branson's psyche, shaken him to his core like nothing else, but the man staring back at her last night had been anything but shaken. He had been alight with dark purpose! When he had touched her she had seen...she didn't know what exactly.

It had been like a memory that was not her own, of a man with the bottom half of his face painted black and his hair shaved and pulled haphazardly onto the top of his head. He had stared back at her with blood on his hands, beckoning her to come to him.

She had not, she could not. He had...taken from her in a horrible way and would take more still if she allowed it. She felt she had had no recourse but to jump, it would be her only salvation from the monster before her. She had backed up to the edge of a great cliff, teetered on its lip, holding his gaze and then she had...fallen? slipped? She didn't know. All she knew was that she had to flee from him and death was the only route left to her.

Now, she needed to tell her sister to flee as well. She had to warn Clarina, had to tell her that no matter what, she must not to marry Branson Thibodeaux! She had been looking for an excuse to refuse him anyway and Lyric had one for her, if she could only catch her alone long enough to warn her. How did she do that though? How did she even open that dialogue when it sounded insane even to her?

"Dis fo' you!" A tiny voice said, startling her out of her frantic thoughts.

Lyric lifted her head and found herself staring at a little girl named Esther, who was holding a folded note out to her. She hadn't even heard the knock on the shack door, she had been that engrossed in her own thoughts.

"Thank you." Lyric replied quietly as she took the note. Esther slunk away to stand by her mother at the other end of the room. She peered out from behind the woman's skirt to stare at Lyric with big, haunted eyes.

Opening the note, she found a message scrawled in beautiful penmanship. It was short, only four words long. It read simply:

 _Come to the Parlor_

She stared at the note for a few more seconds before pocketing it and climbing to her feet. She didn't bother putting her hair up in a _Tignon_ as she assumed the conversation would not be very long. She was certain the note was from Lissette and that it would be regarding either her inheritance or her future at the plantation. The fact that she was being summoned this early, before the household would have even had their breakfast, spoke volumes.

With luck, her inheritance would be just large enough to leave Breeze Knoll behind forever. She could start a new life elsewhere, maybe in New Orleans, as Delphine had suggested. She thought she could be happy as a governess or tutor for another young girl, perhaps once much like herself.

At worst, if she was being removed from the property with nothing, well, she couldn't even muster up enough emotion to care. She knew she would care later when she had nowhere to sleep for the night and no money for safe passage to the city, but at that moment she was numb and just wanted to have the whole thing over and done with. Feeling resigned, Lyric stood up and walked out into the morning sunlight.

No one else was heading out this early so she found herself quite alone on the dirt path leading up to the Main House. It rose before her like a dark idol with corinthian columns and tall fine windows, it's fine face a facade for the unjustness that lived within. _Perhaps this will be the last journey I make to its doors_ , she thought as she entered through the kitchen and crept silently inside.

Georginia was not even downstairs lighting the fires yet. The kitchen felt dark and cold without the other woman rattling around in it, barking orders and sending the serving girls this way and that. Lyric passed by the cold fireplace and into the butler's corridor and then finally into the great hall. It too was dark with the curtains still pulled tightly shut. She came to a stop outside the parlor door and gathered her courage, knowing she would need it to face Lady Harris all on her own.

She tried to imagine _Manman_ standing behind her with her hand on her shoulder, an encouraging smile on her dark, loving face. All she managed was a memory of the _Manman_ from her dream with her dead, twisted features and frozen, gaping jaw. She shook the image away, picturing her soldier instead. She tried to imagine him, not looking horrified as he had in her dream, but smiling at her. She tried to imagine his laugh or how her name might sound falling from his lips. Maybe it was silly but this brought her far more comfort than maybe it ought, considering he was little more than a figment of her imagination.

Lyric squared her shoulders, preparing to confront her future. Once again resolute, she pushed in the door and walked quickly inside.

* * *

 **Authors note:**

 **Well, that was fun to write! I enjoy doling out a creepy dream scene from time to time lol! So here we are on our next round of POV chapters (though technically this is Lyrics 3rd POV cause she tends to get two in any given section). I noticed one reviewer was impatient for Lyric and Caleb to meet so there you go XD (I realize you meant you wanted them to literally meet, not collide in some fucked up dream, but it takes time to get there lol). As you can probably tell, things are amping up. We've gone from lighthouse dream, to Lyric and Caleb hearing one another, to now seeing one another in her nightmare. These occurences are just going to get more frequent until they do what their passengers want...which is obviously for them to find one another!**

 **We see Lyric thinking of Caleb as 'her soldier'. I don't think its any secret that these characters are supposed to be together so i'm not giving anything away with that. One thing I felt like I struggled with in the original version was that the minute they met they kind of fell together and there wasn't much rhyme or reason to it. This way, when i do physically get them in each others air space, the 'I'm automagically in love with you' concept won't seem so bizarre. Also, i've never been able to keep these characters from touching one another or being all googly-eyed so this works in my favor XD**

 **Which brings me to our next topic. I'm going to have to take a brief hiatus from updating. It's not because I don't have more chapters (I actually have up through chapter 13 written) but more because i'm going to catch up to my written stuff if i don't take some time to churn out more. The weekly updates went fine while I was still able to work on later chapters but for the last few weeks it's been more 'edit chapter to be uploaded extensively and write nothing else'. With the holidays coming (and a trip to Disneyworld :D) i'm going to need extra time without the stress of 'churn out next chapter on Weds/attempt to write chapter 14 in the time between'. I hate to do that but I also don't want to run into what i did with Mine, where I don't have anything else written but the chapter i'm uploading and then it takes a month or more to get the next one out.**

 **Hopefully the hiatus won't be an overly long one, i don't think it will be too terribly long, but it will all depend on how much progress I can make with the third round of POV's.**

 **Ok, onto the song for this chapter. It's 'If only for a night' by Florence + the machine. It's one of my favorite songs on my playlist for this story though one that I couldn't listen to for a really long time. For those of you that didn't read Mine (There's an authors note about this in it), my best friend died in June of last year. The opening lines of the song talk about 'Seeing her in my old school' and 'I threw my arms around her legs, woke up weeping', etc...Those lines were like a gut punch for me! Once i got past a lot of that initial grief I was able to listen to the song again and added it here because it made me think of Lyric trying to get past the death of her mom.**

 **I think that was all I needed to talk about for this chapter and again, i'm sorry that I won't be following with Caleb's chapter next week. It needs more editing than I thought it would and i really need to get cracking on the next Bran/Magua chapter too. I will try to get back to updating as quickly as a I reasonably can so I hope you will all stick with me through this!**

 **Again, thank you for the reviews and I will see you when I return!**

 **Happy reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 8**

* * *

" _Been taking it for granted, got the right to speak my mind_

 _I'll overcome the dark, just like the dead,_

 _the lame, the leper,_

 _and the blind man"-Dreams come true, Brandon Flowers_

* * *

Caleb shot out of sleep with a strangled cry. Sweat poured off his face and trickled a cold trail down his spine. His heartbeat pounded like a drum in his ears and he took in deep breath after deep breath as he scrubbed at his face with his hands.

The nightmare had been unlike any he had experienced before. Though he had believed that nothing could be worse than his childhood nightmare of the massacre that had decimated his tribe, that there would never be an image more horrific than that of his mother's eyes as he was ripped from her dead arms. _T_ _his_ had blown all that away!

The dream had begun simply enough, so much so that, for at least a little while, Caleb had been unaware that he was dreaming. For all he knew, he had simply gotten up, exited his tent and walked out to the road, though he had not recalled doing so. Shivering from adrenaline and residual fear, Caleb replayed the dream in his mind, trying to hold onto it despite how much it had terrified him. He had to, he _needed_ to, which was the very definition of insanity.

He remembered how it started, how he was standing on a dirt path, alone, in the middle of the Bayou. He hadn't questioned the isolation at the time, hadn't even looked around of Gray or his Unit. He had simply stood on that small path, staring at a dilapidated shack sitting at the end of it it. He recalled the light shining in the windows, the way it spilled out around the door. He recalled how downtrodden the structure was and the way it looked as though it could fall in on itself at any moment.

Caleb had studied it, unmoving, until his ears began to detect the quiet sound of sobbing coming from within, and though something internal warned against going, he began stepping forward, powerless to stop the forward momentum.

He did not move briskly. His steps were languid, almost lazy, as though he didn't need to go anywhere in a hurry. Once he reached the steps, he could not stop himself from climbing them. His legs carrying him quietly up each creaking, pitted step, only stopping when he was standing before an equally decrepit door.

There was a part of Caleb that _knew_ he should be able to detect the smell of rotten wood, that the moldy scent of old things left to decay in a wet environment should have invaded his nostrils. It was an odor he knew well, he remembered it from his years at the orphanage, but he could not detect it here. How strange, he would think later, that there were no night noises, no breeze. It was as though he were trapped in a very realistic painting where everything looked real but there was no substance to any of it.

Again, Caleb registered the sound of sobbing. It was coming from inside the shack, where someone was speaking in a musical 'other' language that he didn't understand. His hand reached up to touch the dried wood of the door. He barely noted any sense of roughness beneath his fingers as he pushed it inward. It opened with no hint of sound. He remembered clearly the sensation of his foot taking a step forward and that was when he saw...her.

There had been a girl, kneeling on the floor of the shack, shaking the shoulder of a woman who lay sprawled out by the fireplace. Caleb had had a sudden flash of his own dead mother, heard his own babyish cries as rough arms ripped him from her forever. Part of him wanted to weep beside the girl, wanted to collapse next to her and brush those dark, auburn tinted curls over her shoulder. He wanted her hold her tightly. Why, he wondered, would he feel the desire to do such a thing for someone he didn't even know?

The girl had yet to notice him. She continued to plead with the woman to...get up? To be alive? He didn't know. Strangely, he felt as though he could listen to that language of hers for hours. Even through the crying and pleading it was beautiful to his ears. He wanted her to speak to _him_ with that voice, he wanted to hear _his_ name on her lips. Caleb felt a sudden longing for her to look at him.

His silent wish was granted. He must have made a noise, some small sound, because suddenly she wheeled about to stare at him with wide, golden eyes. It was her eyes in particular that drew him in. They were the color of honey or light amber, they glowed in the flickering light as though they were full of stars. They captured him and froze him to the spot more firmly than whatever forces had propelled him into the shack in the first place.

She gasped to see him there, those full lips falling open in a slight O of surprise. Caleb couldn't tell if she was shocked by his sudden appearance or merely just by him. She stared at him as he stared at her, stunned and enraptured all at the same time. Caleb felt the strangest pull in his chest to go to her. To wrap his arms around her and never ever let her go again. It made no sense and yet made all the sense in the world. This girl was his.

The spell only lasted a heart beat or two longer before the girl visibly shook herself. He watched those perfect lips preparing to move, possibly preparing to demand an explanation for his presence. She never had a chance to get out even a syllable because, in that moment, the woman next to her moved. Her hand shot out and grasped the girl's wrist firmly. She screamed, trying to pull away as the woman rose up on snapping, cracking limbs.

"Alice…" A dusty, raspy voice emanated from that frozen mouth, "Aliiiiiiiiiceeeeee…"

"Hey!" Caleb barked out in a sudden burst of worried anger.

"No, No, I'm not Alice!" The girl screamed back.

Caleb tried to rush forward, knowing he had to help her in some way, but before he could even take a step, arms shot around him from behind, holding him firmly in place. He looked down, startled, to discover a pair of muscular arms wrapped up under his armpits. They gripped his shoulders, keeping him still. They were covered in a kind of intricate, dark tattoo that rose like triangles from the bend of the elbow, all the way to the wrist. The skin was darker than his own, a deep mahogany brown.

"Let me go" He demanded, struggling to no avail.

"Must come out now, Alice," the woman croaked horribly, "must wake up…"

"You can't help her here." A deep voice grunted in Caleb's ear.

Whoever held him was of a taller, leaner build than Caleb himself. He was all hard lines and sinew and his grip was like steel. Caleb watched in horror as the woman began clawing her way up the girl's chest. She put her frozen and visibly rotting face right in front of his girls.

"Lovers and children and copper and tin…" The corpse sang in a horrible sing song drawl before reaching out to grab the girl's face with her claw-like fingers.

 _No_ , he thought wildly, _No! Lahollo!_

The term that came so quickly to his mind was a Choctaw word, more specifically an endearment. It had no easy translation in English but if he had to choose one the closest would have been _beloved_.

"Poor lamb," the corpse crooned, "Poor little soul. She's coming you know… the other one"

"Who?" the girl asked in a sharp whisper, as though the very act of speaking were difficult.

"You know," the corpse drawled teasingly, "Or you will…"

" _Tenpri, Manman,_ " the golden eyed girl sobbingly pled, "Please, this isn't you!"

"Let her go!" Caleb shouted as he fought against the arms once again. He kicked, he struggled but nothing he did was breaking the strangers hold. All he could do was watch as the corpse flicked her dead eyes up to his before letting loose a childish giggle. Then she leaned in close to the girl.

"Time to wake up now." she commanded quietly. The girl stared back mutely, trembling.

" WAKE UP!" The woman screeched in an ear splitting scream.

Caleb remembered clapping his hands over his ears, bowling over with pain as the arms of steel suddenly released him. He pressed his face into his knees as the ear splitting shriek went on and on and then suddenly...suddenly... it was over.

That was when he had woken up.

Caleb looked around the tent, his chest heaving as he tried to convince himself that he was back in the waking world, that the golden eyed girl and the dead woman were not real. He pressed a hand over his chest where his heart threatened to beat out of it and tried, unsuccessfully, to get himself under control.

"Just a dream, just a dream," he whispered to himself like a mantra, "just a really, really, shitty dream!"

Even as he told himself this, there was a part of him that didn't believe it. Specifically, the part of him that wanted to rush to the mystery girls aid. He had no reason to assume that she was anything more than a side character in the narrative his sleep deprived brain had created but a part of him _still_ feared for her safety. It was insane, utterly ridiculous, that he was ready to race into the woods and search for some girl he wasn't even sure existed.

Running his hands back through his damp hair, Caleb leaned forward to cradle his head in his hands. Degree by degree, his system was righting itself from the onslaught of adrenaline. Each heartbeat that slowed down, allowed him to think that much more clearly, though did little to decrease his need for flight.

Outside, the sun was coming up. The faraway call of a rooster heralded the start of a new day. Soon it would be time for breakfast and patrolling. Soon it would be back to the grind of scrimmages and the cleaning of rifles and then yet another patrol. The proverbial snake eating its own tail. Caleb could only hope that by then he would have better control over his shaking hands, that by then he would no longer be a trembling mess obsessed with rescuing a dream girl. Even as he thought it, he knew he would not be free of her. Though he was awake, and the sun was high in the sky, the girl would still haunt him.

She was with him when he closed his eyes and he feared for her, his _Lahollo,_ his star eyed girl. Somehow, Caleb was going to have to find her. He knew there would be no peace for him until he did. Unfortunately, he didn't even know where to begin looking.

* * *

By lunchtime, he was calmer, but that undercurrent of fear was still niggling at the back of his mind. It felt like the dirty fingernail of god, digging, digging, scratching a permanent place in his brain. He felt like he was only half there, going through the motions without actually experiencing anything, which was very dangerous should a combat situation arise. It must have been obvious that he was not firing on all cylinders. Even Gray was staring at him as though he could see the thoughts playing out over his friends features.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Gray finally demanded as they were patrolling the area out by the levee. "You've been locked up in your own head all morning."

"I... had a nightmare." Caleb offered lamely.

"So," Gray shrugged, "you're always having nightmares. What's so special about this one?"

"I don't know," Caleb groaned, feeling frustrated with himself, "this was darker, more frightening than the Lighthouse one. I can never remember that one anyway and this one was vivid!"

"It's really got you spooked, huh?" Gray commented, stopping their pace to frown at his friend in concern.

"There was this girl in it," Caleb tried to explain, "and she was in trouble and I couldn't...I couldn't get to her or _do_ anything."

"You know her?" Gray asked.

"No," He muttered, frustrated, "I've never seen her before in my life...but I have this lingering sense that she _needs_ me or something. I know it's crazy, just...just forget it, alright!"

He tried to move past him but Gray reached out and grabbed a hold of his upper arm before he could get more than half a step.

"Caleb, I know you." His friend said seriously. "I know that you wouldn't be focusing this hard on something if you thought it was _just_ a dream. What did the girl look like? Maybe we knew her back at the orphanage."

"I don't think so," Caleb responded, scrubbing at his face with his hand, "She was dark skinned, mixed probably, and she spoke that language that we hear the colored people speaking around here."

"So, she's Creole?" Gray supplied, surprised.

"Is that the word for it?" He asked.

"It's the kinder word for it," Gray amended with an ironic smile, "Did you happen to get this Creole girls name?"

"No. We didn't really speak, everything happened too fast."

"Well, my opinion, for what its worth, is that you saw this girl somewhere we were stationed and now you're thinking with the little brain instead of the big one."

"Jesus christ, Gray! Not everything is about sex!" Caleb scoffed and his friend laughed.

"Well, how long has it been since you wet that thing, huh?" Gray joked, punching him in the arm and laughing as though he were hilarious.

"God, you're a piece of work, you know that!" Caleb grumbled, shouldering his weapon and muscling his way around the other man. He was irritated at himself for being stupid enough to confide in Gray in the first place.

"Oh come on, Caleb, it was a joke!" Gray called from behind him. "Why do you always have to be such a god damned girl!"

Caleb whirled around to retort when cannon fire exploded from the sugar cane about twelve yards away. Both men froze, watching in horror as a brigade of Texas Infantry emerged from the field and poured out into the open space. He and Gray raised their rifles and returned withering fire as more of their unit rushed over to try and drive the brigade back into the fields. No sooner did they achieve that when another force appeared on their right flank. They changed front and attempted to drive this new force back but they appeared to rally from both directions.

The air had grown dusty with gun smoke and charred earth. Caleb was alarmed to realize he could no longer see Gray anywhere in the throng of bodies that wrestled and fell all around him. His unit was forced back as the Texas Brigade charged, crowding them over the Levee and out into the road. Looking up, Caleb could barely make out a Cavalry force making it's way out onto the levee. Because of the chaos, he couldn't make out the colors to tell if the cavalry was their own or the enemies.

"GRAY!" Caleb bellowed against the chaos, eyes searching desperately for his friend. Bodies moved and fell around him in a kind of macabre dance.

"GRAY!" He screamed again.

Nothing, no sign of the man. Caleb coughed, covering his mouth with his sleeve and barely managing to pull his pistol out in time to fire it into the face of an approaching enemy. The soldier crumbled before him, falling to the earth with a heavy _thump_.

"Gray…" he said softly, voice raspy from the smoke. He scanned the sea of writhing bodies, looking for anyone familiar.

He did eventually catch sight of someone but it wasn't Gray. It was one of his unit mates, a kid by the name of John Crawford. The adolescent was desperately trying to hold off a bearded assailant who was both bulkier and taller than he was. Caleb raised his rifle as the Confederate soldier tripped Crawford up and pulled back his rifle to stab him with the bayonet.

Caleb peered down the line of his gun taking a deep breath, focusing. He was about to pull the trigger when something moved behind them that completely interrupted his focus. He froze in the act of firing, eyes lifting up from his rifle, forgetting about Crawford and the Confederate soldier entirely. He even forgot, for a split second, where he was as he gaped at the same dusky skinned, dark haired woman from his dream.

She was standing out in the road, with men falling and dying all around her. He took in her simple dress of blue with the white blousey top, the simple leather shoes on her feet. He watched, stunned, as her eyes blazed with indignant anger, her attention focused on something or someone that he couldn't see. She was yelling and gesturing wildly with her hands, completely oblivious to the war zone exploding around her.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Caleb shouted, snapping out of his momentary trance.

He knew that it was unlikely she would be able to hear him over the din and noise. Hell, _he_ could barely hear himself yet he watched her visibly jump and look directly at him. She pierced him with those lovely, honey colored eyes.

He watched as her finely sculpted eyebrows went up in alarm, the way her beautiful, full lips parted slightly as she drew in a sharp breath. He took in her her oval shaped face, framed by tightly curled black hair. He noted how it glowed, slightly auburn, in the dim light and that she wore it free and flowing over her shoulders rather than in the 'pile it all on top' style favored by the gentry. He watched her lips move to form words, the creole falling from them in a rush.

" _Ki moun ou ye_?"

Somehow he heard her, even from that distance. Caleb didn't understand the words she was speaking but, her voice, it was just like the one he had heard singing the other day. It had the same cadence, the same feeling, like rubbing velvet against one's skin. It was soft and thick and more melodic than he expected.

He was transfixed, his heart catching and subsequently forgetting how to beat in his chest. He knew this woman. He knew her as he knew himself which was impossible because he had never seen her before. They locked eyes from across that space as the world around them slowed to a crawl. Men from both sides froze in the act of falling to the ground or raising a rifle to fire. Caleb barely took note of any on them, his eyes were all for her. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his lungs expanding as he breathed in the smoky air of the battlefield.

Caleb watched as her hands flew to her mouth, muffling a cry of warning. He felt rather than saw the cannon ball collide with the earth as the world sped back up again. He was thrown back and away, sent flying through the air like a rag doll. He came back down, god only knew how far away, skidding and rolling along until he came to a stop in wet, muddy earth. He lay on his back in the swamp, trying to relearn how to breathe as the world spun wildly around him. He tried to get up, tried to make his body obey, but all he managed to do was stare into a smoke filled sky.

Was he dying? Was the girl with the beautiful face and voice an angel sent to carry him into the afterlife? If she was then he could no longer see her. He could no longer see much of anything. Letting out a shaky, hitching breath, Caleb felt the world disappear in a wash of smoke, ash, and death all around him.

* * *

 **Authors note:**

 **Welp, its finally here you guys, the next chapter of Coming Back to You that you've all been so patient about! Sorry it took me so long to pick this up again, the rush of holidays and the election and now house hunting has eaten up the vast majority of my free time. I, unfortunately, did not make much headway in pushing out further chapters while i was on hiatus either. I mean, I have quite a few already written but I hesitate to actively start uploading them until I have a chance to sit on them a bit longer.**

 **That being said I don't know exactly when the next update will be. I'd love to promise it will be this time next week but that all really depends on how I feel about what I have written and whether or not i'll have to change something in it because of later plot. I think we're gonna be playing it by ear for a while on updates until I get a better hold on how I want to do things.**

 **So whats new...well, as I said, the husband and I are house hunting so that's both scary and exciting. I'm getting the offspring ready to go off to kindergarten this year, also scary and exciting. Looking at some trips this year too, one to Iceland and possibly one to Ireland so I'm looking forward to that. All in all. more things to eat into my writing time lol**

 **I don't know that I have a lot to say about this chapter, its pretty much a rehash of Lyrics dream from the last chapter but from Caleb's point of view. Much like Lyric, Caleb recognizes her as his but doesn't really know why he feels that way. This will make transitioning them into a romance a lot less jarring than it was the first time I wrote it. Also we got a brief glimpse of Uncas interfering. I think he just wanted to make his presence known, lest we forget the story is about him. XD**

 **Uncas: *folding arms over his chest* Damn Straight!**

 **Oh, I also imagined the entire battle scene to the music 'Mountains' from the movie interstellar. I actually wrote the scene while listening to it so if you want to really get into the visuals, go listen to that piece of music after you read this.** **The song for this chapter is Dreams Come True by Brandon Flowers which is strangely upbeat and poppy considering what's happening in the chapter. Still, the lyrics worked well so it made it onto my playlist for this chapter along with Mountains.**

 **Ok, guys, I think that about covers what i wanted to say for this chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it and I will try my damndest to not let another 3 months pass before the next update (no promises though, i don't like to post things i'm no sure of). Again, thanks for reading and staying with me throughout this and I will see you next time.**

 **Happy reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9**

* * *

" _Love isn't always fair,_

 _but that's no reason to be so cruel to me,_

 _hold on to what is there,_

 _and count the saints"-Count the saints, Foxes_

* * *

Lyric was feeling less resolute by the time she actually entered the sitting room. In fact, she was filled with a foreboding sense of dread as she glanced around a part of the house that she had never been particularly welcomed in. The family referred to Lissette's sitting room as the 'Purple Parlour'. It was all high ceilings decorated in gold trim with ornate Fleur de Lis mosaics doting every available corner. It was as ostentatious as one could expect from southern gentility

The tall windows across the way were lined with gold, velvet drapes, which had been pulled back to let in the early morning sunlight. Every wide section of wall was covered in tall gilt mirrors, reflecting Lyric's image back to her from several angles. She tried not to look in the mirrors, as they made her nervous after her experience the previous morning. Instead, she looked down at her feet and waited for the Mistress to speak.

It was said that, in her youth, Lissette had been the Belle of Iberville Parish. Rumor had it that, the mirrors carefully placed around the room were there specifically to cater to her vanity. In another time, she would have been able to admire herself from every possible angle but age and five pregnancies had diminished any such beauty. Now all she would see was a rather rotund, moon faced woman whose blonde hair had faded to a nondescript gray.

Lissette glared at Lyric from her place on the Settee, her watery eyes peering over a tea cup as she sized the girl up. Lyric, for her part, attempted to make herself small, lingering by the door with her head down and her hands clasped tightly behind her back. She would not speak until Mrs. Harris did and, as she had not seen fit to say anything yet, they could be there all morning.

"You are wondering, I suppose," Lissette drawled in a tart voice, "why I've summoned you here so early in the morning?"

" _Wi, Madam_." Lyric replied softly.

"You are wondering also, what is to become of you now that my husband and your harlot of a mother are gone?" The woman continued coldly.

Lyric gripped her hands behind her back and tried to keep her expression neutral. It wouldn't do to lose her temper now, even if the Mistress was being exceedingly cruel and unkind.

" _Wi_." she pushed out through gritted teeth, she didn't trust herself to say anything more.

"Well, had it been up to me, I would have shipped Isadora Lavolier back to that god forsaken Plantation in Haiti post haste," Mrs. Harris informed her bitterly, " but John, god rest his soul, wouldn't hear of it."

"My personal opinion," the woman continued, setting the teacup down harshly on its platter, "is that John kept her around in the hopes of getting a son on her as I had...failed him, in that regard."

Lyric wished Lisette would get to the point instead of using her as a springboard for all this vitriol. She could appreciate that Mrs. Harris wouldn't have liked her husband passing her door by every evening to go to their private quarters. She could even appreciate how her presence in the house was a horrible slight to the woman's reputation. And yes, maybe her father _had_ kept her mother around in the hopes of getting a son and heir out of her. Lyric knew, whatever his initial intentions, her father had come to love her mother in their time together. Nothing Mrs Harris said now was going to change any of that.

"Well, with John having passed, I'm now faced with the difficult decision as to what to do with _you._ " The woman snapped, saying 'you' like it left a bad taste in her mouth.

"I'm inclined to turn you out altogether but I am a good christian woman and, as such, have written to your mother's family in Haiti. I intend to send you to them after my daughter's wedding."

Lyrics head shot up.

"But...my grandfather is a tyrant," Lyric said with panic constricting her chest, "He nearly beat my mother to death when he learned that she was pregnant. My father's intervention was the only thing that saved her! You cannot-"

"Do not think to tell me what I can and cannot do in my own home," Mrs Harris thundered, her shrill voice rising with anger, "You exist here solely on my charity and goodwill, both of which have run out!"

"But my father must have left me some kind of inheritance!" Lyric argued back. "Please, just give me whatever he left me and I will leave today! You need never see me again!"

"You stupid girl!" Lissette spat back spitefully. "Even if he _had_ left any money behind, do you really think I would waste it on you? John's death left us destitute! The only money we have now is what I get as a war widow and whatever the sugarcane yields at harvest. All of which will have to go to pay his debt!"

"What?" She said, completely stunned. A faraway rumble of thunder punctuated the sudden silence.

"That's right! We have nothing! Now get out of my parlor, your very presence irritates me!"

"Please, Lady Harris, I am _begging_ you, whatever else you do, do not send me to Haiti! I have never met my mother's family but she did not speak well of them when she was alive. Don't force me to live with people who bore her little goodwill!" Lyric pled in desperation. She knew only a little of what events led up to her conception but she knew a great deal of what came after.

Upon learning that Isadora was pregnant, Lyrics grandfather had flown into a rage. He had beat her within an inch of her life until John Harris intervened, admitting that the child was his. He had offered to take Isadora with him and raise the child, keeping their trade agreement intact while also taking the problem of a 'fallen daughter' off the man's hands. Lyric had no wish to be shuffled off into the circumstances her mother had ultimately escaped, living in a foreign land with people who had no love for her.

"Do you think I give a damn about what you want, you little mongrel," Lady Harris spat at her coldly, "do you think I want you here as a constant reminder of my husband's infidelity? You will go back to your family in Haiti or I will sell you at the county market. Either way you will leave this house!"

"Sell me?" Lyric replied incredulously. "You can't sell me, I was born free, my father saw to that.

"Not if there's no paperwork to prove it." Lissette threatened coldy. There was no remorse in the other woman's eyes as they shone with bitterness back into Lyric's. She felt ice water slide through her veins as she realized exactly how far Lissette was willing to go to be rid of her.

" _Manman_ was right," Lyric whispered. "You truly have no sympathy for anyone, do you?"

"You will not mention that whore in my presence!" The Mistress rumbled, jumping off the settee as though someone had attached springs to the cushions. Her eyes were wild and crazy in her placid, fat face.

"That 'whore' was my mother and she treated my father far better then you ever-" The words died in Lyric's throat as she just happened to glance in the mirror over Lissette's shoulder. Instead of her own incensed expression or the broad backside of the Mistress, she saw a man. More specifically, a soldier, _her_ soldier, the one who had invaded her dream that morning. He appeared to be standing in a battlefield and he was staring right at her.

"What the hell are you doing!?" his deep voice shouted, as though he were trying to make himself heard over the din of the battle.

" _Ki moun ou ye_?" Lyric gasped, taking a step back in shock.

"What gibberish is this?" Lady Harris demanded, spinning to stare at the mirror behind her with a scowl. "What in blue blazes are you gaping at?"

Lyric couldn't answer, she couldn't speak. Her eyes were locked with the soldier's as explosions flashed all around him. She had only regarded him for a brief moment in the dream, now she could see that his skin was lighter than her own. The closest comparison she could make was that it was the color of freshly tanned deer hide. He had a smooth and unbroken complexion with a slightly wide, clefted chin. His lips were long and full, resting under a long but well defined nose. That familiar abundance of black hair tumbled around his shoulders as he stared back at her through almond shaped eyes.

The two of them were frozen, transfixed where they stood; The girl on one side of the glass, standing in a parlor and soldier on the other, caught up in a war. It was only a millisecond later that she saw the flash, another millisecond after that that the earth near him exploded. She let out a cry, hands flying to her mouth as her soldier flew backwards, disappearing in a cloud of smoke and debris.

Lyric stumbled backwards and tripped over her own feet. She fell to the floor of the parlor, landing hard on her rump. She was trembling as she sat there, her hands pressed over her mouth. Tears came unbidden to her eyes, only to tumble hotly down her cheeks.

"What the devil is wrong with you?" Lissette demanded, looking at Lyric as though she had lost her senses completely. Maybe she had.

"The mir-the mirror…" Lyric stammered, pointing at it. Again Lissette turned to look and when she saw nothing she turned back to Lyric with an irritated scoff.

"What of it?"

She should have answered. She should have said _something_ , even if it made her look insane in the eyes of Mrs. Harris. Instead, she scrambled up and fled from the room. Her legs catching in her skirts as she all but flew from the parlor. She didn't hear whatever Lissette yelled behind her, she had forgotten about the woman entirely.

Lyric raced up the stairs as if there were demons nipping at her heels. She sprinted around the corner and down the long hallway that led to the part of the house that had belonged to her and her mother. Stopping before the closed door, she grasped it in her palm, not even considering that it could be locked. Thankfully for her, it wasn't. It opened with barely a whisper of sound, revealing an empty room with a cold, stone fireplace.

There was nothing left of them in the room, no obvious sign that Lyric and Isadora had lived there for seventeen years. Even her mother's shelf of dried herbs was gone, a sprig of rosemary the only remnant, lying forgotten in the middle of the floor. Lyric scrubbed the startled tears from her cheeks and stepped into the room, moving with purpose toward the hearth. The removal of her mother's herbs was of little consequence as they weren't what she had come seeking.

Pulling up a loose floorboard, she reached inside and patted around for Isadora's book of spells. After a few moments her hand found something solid and she pulled it up, settling it into her lap. She opened it and began leafing through the pages quickly, scanning them until she found something that might give her answers; the 'Shining Light of Truth.'

Lyric had never given her mother's Hoodoo practices much credence, from her vantage point nothing ever seemed to happen when she drew symbols with chalk or cut her hand to invoke an incantation. The most effective elements Lyric had seen over the years were her mother's poultices and herbs. Still, she needed answers as to why she was seeing these strange things every time she looked into a mirror or closed her eyes to sleep. Her mother's book might just provide them, if she was brave enough to try. Tracing the script with a finger, she read through the spell to see what was required.

"Draw in power and focus it around the hands." She mumbled, having no idea what that meant. "If done correctly, the truth will be revealed for a short time."

Lyric sat back on her heels and tried to think back to what she had seen her mother do. She hadn't ever seen her perform this particular ritual but she remembered others where she did something with her hands. Frowning, Lyric pulled her lip between her teeth and continued reading.

"Make two energy balls, or _psi,_ in each hand," she read slowly, "then clap them together to create a flash of light."

It sounded ridiculous... but it also sounded embarrassingly simple. She re-read the instructions a few times before putting the book aside and holding her arms out next to her. Taking a deep breath, Lyric shut her eyes and tried to calm her breathing and focus. She didn't know what she was supposed to feel and, for a while, didn't feel anything. After about five minutes of nothing she slumped and opened her eyes, feeling utterly foolish.

"I don't know what I'm doing, _Manman._ " She mumbled to the empty room. "I wish you were still here to help me."

Lyric didn't know what changed from one minute to the next. It was almost imperceptible, she went from feeling foolish and lost one moment to knowing exactly what she needed to do in the next. It was as though _Manman_ had placed her hands on her shoulders and whispered the instructions into her ear.

Again, she closed her eyes. Again, she held her arms before her, palms up and open. She cleared her senses of all external stimulus and took deep, even breaths in and out through her nose. Within a few moments she felt something begin to happen. It was as though all the pressure in the air culminated, pulled like a cyclone, into her waiting hands. They began to tingle, just the gentlest breeze brushing the tips as the 'psi' or 'energy' or whatever it was, gathered in her palms. As it settled she formed one single question in her mind: Who is the man in the mirror?

"Verum Fulsi!" She shouted, clapping her hands together soundly as her eyes opened once again.

There was a pop and a bright flash of light that lasted no more than two to three seconds. In the light she saw a word, one single world, that hovered for a moment before dissipating like a whiff of smoke. The word was 'Uncas'.

"Uncas?" She repeated as spots jumped up in her vision from the flash of light. Who or what was an Uncas?

Wondering if she had bungled the spell somehow, she tried to do it again.

"Verum Fulsi!" She shouted, clapping her hands. Nothing. No flash of light, no popping sound.

"Verum Fulsi!" She cried again, clapping a third time and then a fourth. She clapped until her hands stung and tears of frustration ran down her cheeks. Finally she gave up and shoved the book away, burying her face in her knees. The Shining Light of Truth was supposed to answer her questions, not add to them. She was no closer to figuring out who the soldier was than she had been that morning.

"What you doin' in here, Miss Lyric." Delphine's soft voice queried from the doorway.

She lifted her head to see the girl peering in at her curiously. "The mistress gon tan yo' hide if she find you here."

"I was searching for answers," Lyric sniffed, rubbing the tears from her cheeks with one hand, "But I think all I found were more questions."

"Dis your Mama's book?" Delphine asked as she came in and leaned down to pick the tome up from where Lyric had flung it a few moments ago. She dusted it off and smoothed out the pages before closing it and kneeling down next to Lyric on the floor.

"Thought you didn't believe in none o' dis?" The other girl asked quietly.

"I didn't," Lyric replied with a dry laugh, "Now I don't know what I believe."

"What happened?" Delphine asked, laying a gentle hand on her knee.

Lyric ended up telling her everything. She didn't know how long they stayed in that empty room, with her talking and Delphine listening, but she knew it must have been quite a while because the sky grew dark with the onset of a coming storm. Thunder rumbled loudly outside and a few errant raindrops splattered against the windows.

Georgina was going to have both their hides for being so late in reporting to the kitchen. Still, Delphine didn't rush her, that wasn't her way. She listened in silence, nodding her head occasionally or making a sound of surprise when Lyric told her about seeing the Union soldier in the mirror. When she told her what she had seen after doing the 'Shining Light of Truth' spell, the girl sat back in surprise.

"Someone gotta be layin' root's down on you, Miss Lyric," Delphine stated in a serious tone. "It sound to me like dis a ploy to make you lose yo' mind!"

"The only person I can think of who would want to 'cross' me is Mrs. Harris and you know how frightened she is by all of this. No, it has to be something else."

"Maybe it's a message." the girl suggested, her face thoughtful.

"From whom?" Lyric cried, then shook her head and calmed her breathing.

"Who would send me a message this cryptic?" She tried again, speaking more quietly.

"I tink maybe you need ta visit ol' Edwige." Delphine told her excitedly.

"Who?"

"Da ol' Voodoo woman," her friend persisted, "she live out on da edge of da quarter now, too old ta work, but she might be able ta give you some answers."

"A voodoo woman?" Lyric repeated skeptically. The very idea sounded insane. Delphine raised an eyebrow and then lifted _Manman's_ tome for emphasis.

"You da one sittin' in da dark tryin' ta do magic," the girl pointed out, "I figure, might as well talk to someone who know what dey doin.'"

"Point taken." Lyric mumbled back.

She sighed. She didn't like this idea at all. Still, as Delphine pointed out, she didn't know what she was doing. She had flown upstairs in a fit after seeing the soldier in the mirror and had dove into her mother's book as though it would spell everything out for her. It was true, she needed help and, as loathe as she was to mess with Hoodoo, she really needed to figure all this out.

"How does this work?" Lyric asked before completely consenting to the idea. "Do I pay her? I don't have any money."

"She usually call in a favor as payment, maybe ask fo' some o' yo rations. She has no use fo' money."

"Lucky her." Lyric mumbled back and sighed. She rubbed at her face with one hand and frowned, hoping she wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

"Alright, Delphine. Let's try it your way." She said with defeat after a few seconds had passed. A rumble of thunder followed her words, almost as though the very storm were weighing in on her decision.

"Where do I find this 'Old Voodoo woman'?"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, this chapter officially made me hate Lissette as a character XD. I mean, really! Why so mean, Lissette?**

 **Anyway, this was the first chapter to really get into the Hoodoo side of things. It took me forever to find a Hoodoo spell that would work within the context of the story. I guess I could have just made one up but I wanted to go for as close to reality as I could get. I found the one Lyric does on a website that details various rituals. I ran into the problem of needing one that was uncomplicated but also somewhat showy and settled on the one above. It won't be the last time we see our main character turning to magic for answers but I needed to give her a push to get her to do it.**

 **The next chapter will be Clarina's so we'll get to delve into her perspective on Lisette's plan's for Lyric as well as her feelings about her engagement to Bran. That chapter is pretty much written but I need to spend some time with it and make sure it flows before i put it up for public consumption. Plus we're looking at houses so I may or may not be moving in the coming months. Long story short, not sure when the next chapter will be up at this point.**

 **I should move onto songs for this chapter. The one at the top is Count the Saints by Foxes which is more Lyrics song for her situation. It's not exactly Lissette's theme but i guess it could be. it's the only one she gets on the playlist anyway lol**

 **That pretty much sums up my notes for this chapter, it was a really fun one to write and one of the first ones i rewrote for this story (aside from the previous chapter which really was the first). I hope you enjoyed Lyric running around and doing spells in the dark, next chapter will have more running around (Though it will be Clarina this time), in the rain, on horse back...yeah, thats enough spoilers XD**

 **Anyway, i hope you enjoy the chapter and I will see you all next time! Happy reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 10**

* * *

 _Here's to taking what you came for_

 _And here's to running off the pain_

 _And here's to just another no man_

 _If you want another, say you need another-Neverending Circles, CHVRCHS_

* * *

"Clarina!" Lissette snapped harshly. "Are you listening to me at all?"

Clarina blinked, her head shooting up. She had been staring dismally at her breakfast platter whilst eating nothing and pushing the food around with her fork. She hadn't processed even a syllable of whatever her mother had been been prattling on about. Lissette's disapproving face glared back at her, her thin lips screwed up at the corner in an exasperated scowl.

"I'm sorry, Mama," Clarina apologized, rubbing her temples wearily and pushing the food away, "I didn't sleep well last night. I'm a million miles away this morning."

At her words, Lisette's features softened a bit, losing their petulant and frustrated lines.

"Well, it's no wonder with the hours you keep at that infernal hospital!" Her mother clucked. "Thankfully, all _that_ nonsense will cease when you marry."

Clarina didn't have the energy to tell her that it would not, in fact, be ceasing... not immediately anyway. She was too tired to argue with her, too tired to fight yet another battle when she hadn't even had coffee yet. To the best of Clarina's knowledge, her mother wasn't aware of the conditions she had placed on the union. With any luck, she would keep her in the dark about them for as long as humanly possible.

"Now," her mother continued, all business once again, "we can hold the wedding supper this friday, after the ceremony at the church. Sugar is scarce but I think we can have Georgina whip up a simple Orange cake for-"

"Friday?" Clarina interrupted, her mother's words finally sinking into her tired, sleep deprived brain.

"Yes, Friday! Do try to keep up, Clarina."

"That's two days from now!" Clarina said in bewilderment. "We can't possibly get married in two days, that's absurd!

"You can and you will!" Her mother replied firmly. "Bran is being sent back to the Front come Saturday and wishes to have all of this over and done with before he leaves. Surely, you spoke about this last night?"

Had they? She honestly couldn't remember. She remembered him acquiescing to her conditions and being utterly shocked that he had. She remembered hesitantly accepting his proposal, that the very act of taking his hand had been akin to signing her soul away, but she she didn't recall much of the actual conversation after that. It had been a blur of formalities and agreements. If he had mentioned wanting to get married immediately, it had completely flown by her.

"Well, it doesn't matter. " Lissette relented upon seeing her daughters perplexed expression. She reached over to pat the girl's hand warmly, smiling in triumph. "This wedding business will soon be done, your father's debt will be paid in full and that Mongrel will be out of our lives forever."

"Wait, what?" Clarina asked, freezing as her mother's words sunk in. Lissette blanched, obviously not intending to have said that last part aloud.

"What does that mean?" Clarina demanded, her voice taking on a shrill note. The older woman glanced away, her lips forming into a thin line as she took a dainty sip from her tea cup.

"What did you do, mother?" She hissed angrily.

"I've written to her grandfather's family in Haiti," her mother admitted with a petulant sigh, "she is to be shipped out to them as soon as a ship can be secured."

"How…" Clarina could barely push the words out, she was so shocked and angry, "Why…"

"Oh, don't give me that incensed expression!" Lissette scoffed, "I had to do something!"

"So you're carting her off to family she's never even met!? In another country?!"

"She is rude and indignant!" Her mother snapped back angrily. "You should have heard how she spoke to me this morning! The apple does not fall far from the tree, I'll tell you that!"

"You will write to them, mother, and tell them you have changed your mind," Clarina commanded through her teeth, "Or I will not be walking down the aisle with anyone this Saturday!"

"Now you're just being petulant!" Her mother replied tartly. "Besides, if she isn't sent back to Haiti then I will be forced to sell her at the auctioneer's block."

"That's completely illegal, Mama, and you know it! She's a free person of color!' Clarina reminded her in a disgusted tone.

"Not if they can't find the paperwork." Lissette replied with a cold, evil smile.

"You didn't?" Clarina gasped, stunned at how vindictive her mother had become.

"I did!" She replied almost gleefully. "I burned them this morning, along with the part of John's will that recognized her as a legal daughter."

Clarina jumped up from the table as though the seat had burned her. She backed away from the woman who had given birth to her, she couldn't believe what she was hearing. She didn't even recognize the woman sitting before her. How could her mother be so utterly cruel as to destroy the _only_ evidence Lyric had of being free?

"You're the devil!" Clarina whispered. "You have no humanity at all!"

"Well, whatever you think of me, the choice of what happens to the Mongrel now lies with you. Send her back to her family in Haiti or see her sold to the highest bidder at the auctioneer's block?" Her mother replied simply.

"I hope you burn in hell!" Clarina spat and turned on her heel, fleeing the room.

She ran down the hall and out the side door, spilling onto the lawn. When her skirts got caught up in her shoes she angrily hauled them up and all but tore at the hoops wrapped around her waist. They made a satisfying ripping noise as she stepped out of them and then she stomped her way to the stables. Her skirt now hung dismally around her legs, sagging without the hoops to fill them out. Clarina didn't care as she hauled open the barn door, muttering angrily to herself the entire time.

"You alright dere, Miss Clarina?" Horatio queried as she raged by him. She didn't answer as she hauled the door open and led Yank out by his bridle.

"I ain't even saddled 'im yet!" Horatio called as she grabbed the little platform and then hauled herself onto the horses naked backside.

She said nothing as she gave the horse's flank a kick and spurred them both out of the barn. She gloried in the wind in her face she she turned the horse down the path. It blew her angry tears away as she spurred Yank on to ever increasing speed. She didn't want to think any more, she didn't want to do anything but run until she fell off the ends of the earth. She ran from her mother's words, from her promise to marry Bran, she rode as though she could escape all of it.

Dimly, Clarina became aware of the low rumble of thunder but paid it little mind as she continued on her mad dash. It was only a few minutes later when she felt the first wet splash on the tip of her nose. She was just emerging from her rage fueled haze when the horse gave a sudden, frightened whinny. He reared up, his heavy front legs kicking and Clarina was thrown backwards off of him. She landed with a wet splash in the mud as the horse took off for the open field off to her left.

Thankfully, the earth was wet, which cushioned her landing somewhat. It didn't save on her from getting a mouthful of mud though. She spit it out, pulling herself up to sit there glumly, defeated, as the heavens opened up above her. The weather fit her mood, dark and stormy, with no signs of letting up anytime soon. She brushed the angry tears from her face with one filthy hand and only achieved putting a new muddy streak along her face.

Clarina pulled her knees up and buried her face in them with a sob, wishing for all the world that she could go back in time and beg her father not to leave them. At least when he was alive he had exercised some measure of control over his wife. Without him, Lissette had become a miserable person who rained her misery on everyone around her. Without him, she would destroy anyone who got in her way.

She felt well and truly defeated. Marrying Bran was supposed to ensure her sister's safety not throw her into yet another set of bad circumstances. Clarina had gone into this debacle with the intention of improve her sister's, as well as her mother's, situations. She had only managed to ensure that one of them would be alright. Without papers to prove she was free, or their father's will claiming her, Lyric was as good as a slave herself.

"Miss Clarina!" she heard a distant voice calling. She lifted her head to see Horatio making his way through the pounding rain on her father's old Tennessee Walker, Diablo.

"Miss Clarina, is you hurt?" The old man asked worriedly. He jumped down from the horse and ran over to where she sat in the mud.

"I'm fine, Horatio," she muttered as he gingerly helped her to her feet, "I was thrown when something spooked Yank. I...I should have let you saddle him. I'm sorry."

"You's took off like the devil 'imself was on yer heels!" Horatio scolded after he had assured himself she wasn't hurt. "I ain't never seen no woman move dat fast."

"I was angry." She replied lamely. "I just...I don't even know what I was thinking."

"Well, Yank don't look like he got far" Horatio commented as he glanced around her to see the horse idling nervously out in the field, "wonder what spooked 'im so?"

"I couldn't tell you." she replied as she walked over to stand by her father's horse. She was feeling some pain now the haze of shock and adrenaline was wearing off. Her ribs ached and her shoulders felt stiff.

Horatio made a quiet _hmph_ in his throat before sauntering out into the field to try and retrieve her wayward horse. He clucked at it soothingly and after a few moments, Yank allowed the older man to approach him and take hold of his bridle. Clarina watched him gently pat the animals side, murmuring to him, as he checked the horses shoes and tested his legs to make sure he wasn't injured. Once he assured himself that the horse was none the worse for wear, he led him back toward where Clarina and Diablo stood.

Once they neared a drainage ditch however, Yank once again began to neigh and shift, pulling away even as Horatio tried to make him mind.

"Hey now!" The old man chided, petting the animals muzzle and talking in a low, soothing tone. "What's got you so riled up now?"

Only more nervous neighing on the horses part was his answer. There was a few more seconds of gentle assurances from Horatio before Clarina heard him take in a sharp breath.

"You best get up on Diablo an' get da Constable, Miss Clarina." The old man suddenly said in a tight voice.

"Why? What's wrong?" She asked, surprised by his sudden change in tone.

When he didn't answer her, she made her way to his side to see what he was looking at. At first, her tired and water logged brain couldn't account for what she was seeing in the ditch. It looked like nothing more than a loose bundle of red splotched fabric laying amongst the mud and wet earth. It was only when she squinted that she could see a mass of dark hair, wetly framing an equally dark face.

"Oh my goodness gracious!" She gasped, her hands flying to her face in horror.

One of their slaves, Cosette, lay dead in the ditch before her. Her brown eyes staring blankly upwards. The girl's chest was a ruined, red mess where her heart should have been. It was now nothing more than a gaping red hole against the soggy blue fabric. Clarina swayed where she stood and Horatio caught her before she fell.

"Steady dere, Miss Clarina." He said soothingly, leading her away from the scene and back to her father's old horse. She was shaking as he helped her up onto Diablo's back and pushed the reins into her trembling hands.

"You alright ta fetch da Constable?" He asked her worriedly. "I'd go myself but I reckon dey won't come out on da word o' an old stable nigger."

"Don't call yourself that," She mumbled back, still in shock, "not to me...never to me"

"What I is or ain't don matter none right now. We needs be gettin' da Constable out 'ere afore da animals git at da body."

He was right, of course. Clarina shook away her shock and disgust, calling on her nurses training to get her moving. Quickly, she grabbed the horse's reins and, though her hands still felt numb, she managed to grip them firmly.

"I'll be back as quickly as I can!" She promised and then rode away with purpose.

Everything that happened next was a blur of disconnected events. She felt as though she were outside herself, watching it play out like a theatre production. She rode straight to the Constable's office in town and led him back to Horatio in what felt like no time at all. She was dimly aware of the towns people pointing and whispering as she passed, no doubt commenting on her unkempt appearance and mud streaked face. Clarina couldn't muster enough emotion to care about them. She couldn't muster the emotion to care about much of anything.

The Constable rode back with her and took her statement, as well as Horatio's, before walking back to Breeze Knolle with the two of them. Horatio excused himself to take the horses back to the barn and Clarina led the Constable into her mother's parlor. She was dripping muddy water all over the rug when her mother finally arrived and the womans horrified face was the first thing to clue her into how awful she must have looked.

"Lord have mercy!" Lisette gasped as she stomped into the parlor. "What in god's name happened?"

"I was thrown off Yank," Clarina explained quickly, waving her hand as though it hardly mattered, "but that's not important right now, Mother, there's been a-"

"You were thrown!?" Her mother shrieked, racing over to push Clarina's soggy hair out of her face and check her up and down for injuries. "Are you injured? My word, your dress! It's utterly ruined and what-where are your hoops?"

" _Madame_ -" The Constable tried to interrupt. Lissette didn't even acknowledge he was there.

"They're out behind the house." Clarina interrupted, pushing her mother's prodding fingers away when they pushed against her sore ribs in an effort to ascertain if she was still wearing a corset.

"You took them off on the lawn?!" Mrs Harris yelled.

" _Madame_!" The Constable suddenly barked. Lissette jumped as though just realizing someone else was in the room.

"Constable Montcalm!" She greeted tightly, clearing her throat in obvious embarrassment at her rude faux pas. "How delightful to see you. Might I offer you some tea?"

"No, dear lady, thank you." The man replied tersely as he straightened his spine. "This is _not_ a social call."

"Oh?" Lissette replied, her watery eyes darting between the Constable and her daughter. "Has something happened? Was it you who rescued Clarina from her...riding incident?"

"No, _Madame_. I am here because one of your slaves has been discovered murdered not far from here."

"Murdered?" Her mother repeated as though the word made no sense to her. "Who..what?"

"It was Cosette, Mama." Clarina filled in tiredly. Her ribs were aching horribly now and she feared she might have broken one of them in the fall. She leaned against the side of the settee and fought the urge to sit down. Her muddy, waterlogged dress would surely ruin the upholstery and give her mother yet another excuse to shriek at her.

"I simply don't understand." Lissette continued in a perplexed tone of voice. "What do you mean Cosette was murdered?"

"Oh Jehoshaphat, Mama!" Clarina snapped in pain fueled frustration. "Murdered! Dead! Someone cut out her heart and left her to die in a god forsaken ditch!"

Both the constable and her mother blinked at her, taken aback by her sudden angry outburst.

"That's the reason Yank threw me." She continued duly, finally giving into the urge to sit and groaning in relief once the strain on her ribs eased a bit.

"He smelled the blood, I assume. Horatio sent me for Constable Montcalm and he's here to get statements from the household."

"Statements from...you don't honestly believe the killer is from _this_ household, do you?" her mother demanded, as though the very idea were ridiculous.

"No, _madame,_ but one of your slaves might have seen the person who committed this crime." The constable replied simply.

"We have nearly 100 slaves in residence, surely you don't mean to speak with all of them?"

"I will speak to whomever I deem relevant." The man replied in a clipped tone. "If that means all 100 then that is what I will do...unless you prefer the killer to remain at large and free to continue killing young women like your daughter?"

Lissette sputtered in indignation but the Constable was unmoved by her theatrics. Clarina, for her part, merely slumped back against the settee, suddenly wanting nothing more than a hot bath and to retire to her bed for the remainder of the day.

"But first, might I suggest you see to the young lady?" Constable Montcalm suggested, nodding his head in Clarina's direction. "She's had quite a shock and could do with a hot bath and possibly a visit from Dr. Phelps."

Lissette turned back to her offspring with tight lips but any criticism she might have leveled at Clarina appeared to die in her throat. She pulled in a deep breath to collect her frayed nerves before marching around the constable to peer out into the hall.

"Gwen!" Clarina heard her mother call out. "Could you run to the kitchen and ask Georgina to come to the parlor? After that I need you to draw a hot bath for Miss Clarina and send Sébastien to town for Doctor Phelps, please?"

Clarina didn't hear Gwen's reply but she assumed the girl must have acquiesced because Lissette came back over to gently tug on her arm. She got to her feet with a little hiss of pain.

"Our head of Kitchen will come to speak to you first." Lissette informed the man tersely. "She can direct you on whom to speak to about the...maid."

"Delphine!" Clarina suddenly piped up, causing both her mother and Constable Montcalm to look at her questioningly.

"Delphine is Cosette's cousin." She clarified. "She may know who Cosette associates with or who she might have left the property with. You should speak to her."

"I-well-yes.." The man replied, obviously flustered. Whether it was because of Clarina's scattered responses or her attempting to do his job for him, she would never know.

"Let's get you upstairs now." Her mother commanded quietly. Clarina merely nodded as Lissette led her away. She didn't even look back to try and hear what the Constable said when Georgina arrived. She let her mother lead her silently away.

* * *

"Well, this is a right mess you've gotten yourself into!" Lissette gripped as she drew the comb back through clarina's muddy tresses.

They were in Clarina's bedroom now, with the latter sitting in a tub of too hot water while her mother tried to clean all the grime from her hair. The Constable, they were informed, was still waiting to speak with Delphine who no one had been able to locate yet. For the first time in her life, Clarina hadn't argue with her mother when she called for the copper tub and had sunk gratefully into it once it was filled with steaming water.

"Bruised ribs, dress all but destroyed and your hoops," Her mother chided angrily, "I still can't believe you ripped them off right there on the lawn!"

Clarina didn't say a word, she just let her mother rant while she soaked in the water. She felt like a piece of herself had been washed away with the rain, like she had lost something important in her mad flight from the house.

"Riding bareback with your dress hanging off you like that... and then riding into _town_ looking like a wet whore! I shall never recover from the embarrassment!" Her mother continued, sounding like it was _her_ who was the wounded party and not, in fact, her daughter.

"All anyone will talk about is the dead girl, Mama," she replied dully, "They won't care what I was or was not wearing."

"Nasty business, this murder!" Lissette interjected as though it were more an inconvenience than a tragedy, "and one of our own to boot! However did she end up that far from the house in a filthy ditch?"

"I'm sure she had little choice in the matter." Clarina answered dryly then hissed in pain when her mother hit a snag.

"Well, I'm just glad you're not more injured than you are. You'll be sore for a day or two but it's nothing one of my 'miracle cures' can't set right."

"I don't want any of that poison." Clarina told her tiredly, glaring over her shoulder at the woman.

"Oh Pish!" Lissette scoffed as she pushed her daughter's head back around. "No one wants to come to a wedding where the bride can barely move! Stop your fussing and let me do this."

"How can we possibly have a wedding when there's been a murder on our land?" Clarina demanded. She slunk a bit down in the water and let it rise to her chin. Part of her wished she could sink below it and never emerge again.

"How can we _not_?" Her mother corrected as she pulled Clarina back up and dragged the comb through her hair for what felt like the millionth time, cleaning the mud clogged bristles off in the water by Clarina's shoulder. "If we cancel then everyone will think we're guilty and scared and we are neither! It was just a slave, after all."

"Her name was Cosette, Mama!" Clarina corrected her angrily. She couldn't believe her mother could be so cavalier about the murder of one of their staff.

"And we will certainly feel her absence come Saturday." Lisette replied tersely.

"My god, you are a piece of work!" Clarina spat as she turned in the tub to stare daggers at the woman who had given birth to her. "One of our people is dead and all you can think about it how it affects the wedding!"

"When you have only daughters and the running of a household to worry about then you can tell me what else occupies your thoughts!" her mother shot back petulantly. "Now turn around so I can rinse this filth out of your hair."

She didn't give Clarina a chance to answer or even comply before dumping a pitcher of water over her head. Clarina sputtered as the water invaded her eyes and mouth. Then she called for towels and a nightgown and sent for the tub to be removed. Once her daughter was toweled off and dressed, Lissette braided Clarina's hair into one long plait.

"Now, you are to go to bed and stay there for the remainder of the day." Her mother commanded. "I've already told Dr. Phelps that you will _not_ be working at his hospital any longer."

"Oh, Mama, you didn't!" Clarina groaned. "They're short staffed and I was going to-"

"No arguments!" Lissette cut her off in a tone that was not to be argued with. She helped Clarina to her feet and deposited her directly into bed. Then she reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a bottle of that dreaded 'cure' of hers. Clarina clenched her teeth together and glared when her mothered poured the opiate onto a spoon and tried unsuccessfully to get it in her daughter's mouth.

"Fine!" Lissette finally scoffed, throwing up her hands when she realized Clarina was not going to comply. "Be in pain! I'll have luncheon sent up in a few hours."

With that she stomped her way out of the room, muttering about willful daughters under her breath. Clarina made a rude gesture at her mother's retreating backside before letting out a heavy sigh and sinking back into the pillows.

Despite her assertion that she didn't _want_ the miracle cure, she had to admit that she ached horribly. Dr, Phelps has assured her that her ribs were merely bruised and not broken, probably saved by her corset and a fall into soggy earth. Clarina turned her head to stare dismally out the far window, watching the rain hit the glass and run down, trailing away like tears. She wished it could wash away her discontent while it was at it.

She must have dozed for a while because when next she looked at the window, the rain had stopped and only a grey sky met her eyes. She wondered what time it was and started a bit when there was a gentle knock at her bedroom door.

"Come in!" She called, pulling herself up in the bed and arranging her braid over one shoulder. She tried not to sigh in annoyance when Bran's bearded face peered around the door.

"Your mother said it was alright to visit." He said quietly, as though he were visiting the hospital and not, in fact, her bedroom.

"I..well...yes, I suppose it is." She stammered, wondering for a moment why her mother didn't send up a chaperone. Then she realized that it hardly mattered as they were to be married in two days.

"She said you took a tumble from your horse." He said as he pulled up a nearby chair and set it near her bed.

"Yes, I was being a foolish ninny." She admitted, still embarrassed over her childish flight from the house.

"I also heard about the maid." He added quietly, looking down then and fiddling with a string on his sleeve. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, Bran!" she heard herself sob. It bubbled up in her throat before she could stop it. She pressed a hand to her mouth and shook her head as tears came unbidden to her eyes.

"Oh my dear!" He cried, suddenly coming forward to embrace her. Clarina let him do it, even though it felt awkward and wrong in some way to let him hold her so intimately. Perhaps it was the need for human closeness or some other weakness on her part but she buried her face in his chest and cried.

"It's just...it's been such a horrid morning!" She sobbed, her words muffled against his chest. "Mama is going to send Lyric away and then Horatio and I discovered Cosette in that ditch and I just…" she couldn't get the words out. She was feeling so much all at once, she just let the words trail off as she wept against his shirt.

"Hush, now!" Bran said soothingly, holding her head against his shoulder until her wracking sobs slowed and finally ceased. When the flood of tears ended, she pulled back to look into his handsome face, grateful for his kindness in her moment of weakness. She wondered, in that moment, if she had done him a disservice in not allowing herself to focus on _this_ side of him. Could she not learn to love this gentle man who held her as she cried?

"There, now," he said gently, brushing some stray hair from her face and peering into her eyes, "What's this about your mother sending Lyric away?"

"She...she wants to send her to her family in Haiti." Clarina explained miserably.

"Is that so bad?" he asked, not unkindly but more curiously.

"She's never met them and her grandfather is a horrid man who beats his wife and children for the smallest infraction. He nearly killed Lyrics mother when she became pregnant."

"I see," Bran said looking thoughtful for a moment, "Why does she not just leave then? She's a grown woman and a free person of color. She could go anywhere she wanted."

"She could have," Clarina corrected flatly, "before Mama burned the papers. Now she's threatening to sell her at the auctioneer's block!"

Bran went very still at her words and for a split second something crossed his face that she didn't understand. If she had to hazard a guess, she would have called it rage, but it looked very different from the anger Clarina felt. The rage she saw in his face was...personal somehow. It was as if the situation directly affected him in some way. The rage, or whatever it was, was gone as quickly as she had seen it. He looked stricken then, shocked, all the things she expected to see.

"I never thought she could be so cruel." He said then, with a fine thread of anger lacing the words. Clarina did not mention that her mother had only threatened to sell Lyric if she didn't marry him, she didn't know _how_ to mention that. It felt wrong after his tender treatment of her during her tears.

"She does a great many things I can't believe." Clarina muttered dismally.

Bran was quiet for a moment, as though thinking and then suddenly his face brightened and he took her hands in his.

"What if I were to purchase her for you, as a wedding gift!" he exclaimed excitedly.

Clarina stared at him with her mouth agape, offended to her very soul. He saw her expression and put a hand up to stop her from saying anything just yet.

"Now, hear me out, darling!" He requested. "What I mean is, I could purchase Lyric from your mother then hand the paperwork over to _you_. Then you could legally free her once again."

Clarina could only stare at him, amazed that he had come up with such a simple and generous solution. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it herself! She stared back at Bran with so much gratitude that she could have kissed him.

"You would do that for me?" She asked, feeling the tears swim anew in her eyes.

"I would do anything for you." He replied with an indulgent smile.

"Oh, Bran!" she said for the second time.

She would wonder later what had possessed her to lean forward and press her lips against his. Bran was certainly taken aback by it, she could tell by the startled rigidness of his shoulders. The shock did not last long, however, and his arms soon enfolded her, returning the kiss with abandon.

Clarina would wish later that she had felt more than gratitude in that moment. She knew the kiss meant vastly more to Bran than it did to her. It was not an pleasant experience to kiss him though, even with the scratchiness of his beard against her chin. His arms were gentle and his lips were soft as they moved against hers.

"Well," he said, giving a little laugh when they parted, "I should let you rest while I speak to your mother about what we... discussed."

"She may well say no." Clarina warned, settling back against the pillows. "She has no love for Lyric. I think she just wants to be rid of her."

Bran smiled at her conspiratorially.

"I can be rather persuasive when I want to be." he responded with a wink.

Clarina laughed and then yawned audibly.

"Thank you for this, Bran, really! You have taken a great load off of my mind."

"Think nothing of it, my darling!" He whispered before leaning down to lay a kiss on her forehead. She gave a brief smile as tiredness began coursing through her veins once again. She was only dimly aware of Bran's footfalls as he walked to the door, and the soft click as it closed softly behind him. She snuggled down into her bed, feeling hopeful for the first time in forever.

* * *

 **Authors note:**

 **Good guy, Bran, coming to the rescue! Be a shame if someone else were to...take over! *DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUN* XD**

 **Ok, c'mon, it's not really a spolier when we already know that he shares his brain with Magua. Seriously though, he's being such a decent guy here that I feel really bad for his character. I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO LIKE YOU, BRAN! XD**

 **Anyway, that's Clarina's chapter. I hope you all enjoyed CSI: Civil War, it was fun to write. I thought I would have to take a bit longer to get this one up but it actually was pretty ready to go when I opened it to edit. I will apologize in advance on the wait we have getting back to Caleb. I can assure you that he's just taking a nap...a cannonball induced, possibly concussed nap...but a nap nonetheless. He is currently feeling no pain and will be back soon enough.**

 **The next update will be Bran's next POV chapter. I would usually have followed his with a Magua one but I don't think Magua's going to need his own again just yet. I think I cover most of what needs to be said for him in Bran's. Hopefully that one will be up rather quickly so we can get back to Caleb but, as always, it depends on how quick my editing goes.**

 **On to the song for this...another reason why it was a good thing this chapter was delayed is that i didn't HAVE a song for this chapter until, well, today. XD**

 **It's Neverending Circles by CHVRCHS. It was a toss up between that one and 'We sink' by the same artist. I went with Neverending Circles because it sounded a bit more dire to me. Since Clarina is really laboring under a lot of defeat and stress in this chapter, I felt like it suited the mood of the story better.**

 **I think thats all I have to say about this one. Lissette is still a bitch and Bran is a good guy with a less good guy living in his brain. We got to see one at their worst and the other at their best so I call that a win. I hope you all enjoy this next installment of Coming back to You. Shout out to Mohawk Woman for looking over some of my later ideas and letting me know if they sucked or were too weird! It really helps to have another pair of eyes :D**

 **Happy reading you guys and I will see you next time!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11**

* * *

 _Well everything has changed_

 _And now it's only you that matters_

 _I will find any way_

 _To your wild heart-Wild Heart, Bleachers_

* * *

Bran paused outside Clarina's bedroom. He leaned his head resting against the door, his hand still gripping the knob with tight, white knuckles. It was not the girl's kiss that had disarmed him so, not the touch of her soft lips that caused his blood to rush through his veins. No, it was hot anger that arrested him, that glided below the surface of his skin. It was akin to a crawling of the flesh, as though insects marched directly below the surface. Bran could almost detect their miniscule movements as they tickled a path up and down his limbs.

In all the time they had shared the same space, Bran had never felt The Painted Man's emotions so acutely before. His Dark Passenger was downright murderous! He was ready to rip and tear, rend flesh from bone until his rage was sated. Bran quaked with the force of his demon's anger, an anger that, until this moment, he had never experienced so palpably. It was a tangible thing, hot and biting, as though the sensation of marching insects had turned on him and were now attempting to devour him from the inside out.

 _I will kill the fat Bitch!_ The Demon roared. _I will tear her limb from limb! I will scatter the pieces so far and wide that there will never be any hope of finding her!_

"There is no need for that," Bran thought at him soothingly, "I have found a solution that will work for everyone."

Strange, that it was now _he_ who was in a position of power, that it was _he_ who sought to offer comfort. Bran had never been a position to understand or pity his demon. But in this moment he did, he pitied him.

For beneath all that fury lay a wretched kind of anguish, a loneliness, that Bran had never detected before. His Dark Passenger's emotions had always run hot or cold. He was imperious, arrogant, hot tempered, even downright conniving when he wanted to be... but he had never been anguished.

 _Why_ , Bran wondered to himself, _would The Painted Man show such unadulterated emotion now?_

Also, what did any of it have to do with Lyric? Bran reminded himself that his Passenger _had_ been in control for a lengthy period of time the previous evening. It wasn't unrealistic to assume the two of them had had some kind of interaction. Lyric was still in residence, after all, even if it was merely as a servant. His Demon could have come across her at any point during the course of the evening.

Bran recalled nothing after his suicide attempt in the parlor. He had slid into that dark, quiet place at the back of his mind and had not emerged until the wee hours of the morning. He had awoken cold and wet, covered in mud and leaves, lying in a filthy ditch. He had awoken to discover The Painted Man's latest victim lying dead and bloody beneath him, the meaty metallic taste of her blood still in his mouth.

Bran found some irony in the fact that he was now so accustomed to his demons activities that he could muster little more than a prayer for the soul of girl he had just murdered. He had not even looked at her face, she could have been white for all he knew. She could have been part of the gentry, she could have been Clarina herself and he would not have known it. He had simply gotten up and left her there. He hated himself for that.

He had not realized she was one of the Harris' slaves. Indeed, he had given her very little thought at all as he stumbled home and washed up where the slaves laundered the linens. He had stripped off his bloody shirt and thrown it into the garbage pile to be burned later. It would not be until his father came bursting in at breakfast that Bran would learn the full truth of what he had done.

Henry Thibodeaux, or _Henri_ as he was called by the family, blew in as though he had been fired from a canon. The man's bearded face had been lined with barely controlled agitation which was not unusual in and of itself. Henri was a calculating man by nature, usually two steps ahead of his rivals. It was no surprise that he would already know what had transpired at the Harris plantation and how it might affect him.

" _There's been a murder," Henri declared in his loud, booming voice._

" _A murder?" Bran repeated as he took a bite of toast. He tried to sound shocked and appalled but the bread was suddenly so dry in his mouth that he only managed to choke on it instead._

" _Yes, a house slave apparently." His father continued, sounding annoyed, as though the murder of a slave was an inconvenience to him personally. He sat down heavily in his chair, it creaked under his portly mass and he frowned as he reached for the butter knife._

" _She was discovered early this morning by none other than your future wife." Henri added in a tone that dripped with disapproval._

 _Again Bran choked, though this time it was on the tea he was drinking to clear the toast that had lodged itself in his throat. He coughed again, eyes watering, as he tried to get himself under control._

" _I suggest,"_ _His father said, shooting him a hard glance, "that you get over there immediately."_

" _I don't understand," Bran rasped when he was able to form a cohesive sentence again, "Why would Clarina be out so early? It's barely eight o'clock in the morning, she would not even have had breakfast yet!"_

" _Well, how should I know why these females do the things they do?" Henri replied in exasperation. He had little patience for the female persuasion, leaving his daughters to be handled by governesses after the death of Bran's mother. It was little surprise that he was being dismissive of Clarina now._

" _Though, I will tell you that she's created quite a scandal, showing up in town soaking wet...without proper attire," his father continued, frowning as he buttered his toast, "AND riding a standard saddle to boot! You'll have to take that girl firmly in hand once you're married, boy! Antics like that cannot continue!"_

" _Why was she out at all?" Bran demanded, ignoring his father's complaints about his fiance's character. "Is she alright? Surely riding around in the rain cannot be good for her health!"_

" _I've no idea, which is why I'm suggesting you to ride over there and find out." Henri replied slowly, eyeing his son as though he had suddenly gone stupid. "What's the matter with you, Branson? Have you not been listening to a word i've said?"_

" _I've heard everything you've said, father, and I'm sorry if my main concern is for my fiance's well-being more than her reputation."Bran shot back with equal annoyance._

" _Well, I doubt she's feeling all that pristine, considering it was one of her family's slaves that was killed." His father told him in a clipped tone. "Awful time for this to happen, what with your wedding being held in just two days and all."_

" _The Slave was one of Clarina's?" He repeated quietly, stunned and horrified that he had delivered this horror upon her door._

" _So I'm told." His father replied without interest. "Thus, why I need you to get over there and make sure this wedding is still happening. Once her father's cane fields are firmly in our grasp, I can move forward cultivating them. We should be rolling in the green come harvest!"_

" _That's really all you care about, isn't it?" Bran shot back disgustedly. "How much money you can make of their fields. Clarina could die of pneumonia and all you would care about is whether she lived long enough to say 'I do'."_

" _When you have several businesses to oversee and a family to feed, then you tell me what else occupies your thoughts." His father replied dryly. "Now get over there and make sure our 'investment' will be sufficiently recovered by Friday."_

" _You're a son of a bitch, you know that?" Bran spat back. He pushed up from his chair and glowered at his father angrily._

" _As you see me, so shall you be." His father quoted simply. "Now, go!"_

What else could he do? He had left the dining room and ridden over as soon as his horse was ready. By the time he arrived he was about as soaked as he could get, though it didn't stop him from rushing to her room. Now here he was, standing outside it whilst his Demon paced like a caged animal, refusing to be placated by reason or rational.

 _The Moon Hair is mine!_ The Demon continued angrily. _Nothing and no one will take her from me again!_

If Bran could not account for his Dark Passenger's anger then he certainly couldn't account for his new name for Lyric. Pretty though Lyric might be, there was nothing particularly Moonlike about her. She was unfailingly Creole with her dusky face and abundance of dark hair. Her mother's Haitian blood had guaranteed that she would never be able to pass amongst the white gentry unnoticed. It was a pity too because she was kind, as well as educated, and she would have made a decent wife for any man who could look past petty prejudices.

"Then allow me to arrange things so that she _can't_ be sent away." He thought at the demon, keeping his tone calm and steady. He felt that if he could just reach his darker half with reason, they could avoid any _more_ unnecessary bloodshed.

Part of him couldn't believe he was standing in a hallway, gesturing wildly at nothing while he seemingly argued with himself. He could only pray that no maids or household staff came upon him while he stood there with his head against Clarina's door, mumbling to himself.

 _You truly believe the Fat Mother will concede?_ His dark passenger mocked, _You truly think she'll just give us the Moon Hair and pass up her chance for vengeance?_

"What I believe," Bran responded quietly, "is that her greed will be stronger than her need for vengeance."

The Painted went quiet for a time, the marching of anger under Bran's skin stilled as well. He could feel his Passenger musing over what he said, calculating the odds. Bran had little choice but to let him think, he certainly wasn't going to approach his future mother in law with the demon still raging inside him.

 _Killing her would be vastly more satisfying._ The demon commented sullenly, like a pouting child who was not getting his way.

"Perhaps," Bran thought back, "but impossible to cover up, especially after your...activities last night. There would be no way to hide this one, we would be locked up and executed. Not even _you_ could get us out of that!"

Again, the Demon went silent and Bran knew he had likely won the argument. He didn't take time to revel in his triumph however. He needed The Painted Man to come around first, to see reason. He could pat himself on the back later.

 _Very well._ That deep voice relented. _We shall try it your way..._ _ **this**_ _time!_

Bran let out the breath he had been holding in a loud sigh. The relief he felt made his legs want to buckle beneath him.

 _But the Fat Mother_ _ **will**_ _die._ His demon decreed darkly. _I will not allow her to take what is mine a second time._

"Why does it matter so much to you?" Bran exclaimed, speaking so loud he clapped a hand over his mouth and looked around to make sure no one was nearby to hear. He cleared his throat lest anyone _should_ hear him and tried again.

"Lyric has nothing to do with either of us." He thought back firmly.

 _In her current incarnation, perhaps not,_ The demon responded simply. _But the Moon Hair has everything to do with_ _ **me**_ _and I will not have her sent away._

Bran gritted his teeth in exasperation because it was clear he wasn't going to get more of an explanation than that. Whatever Lyric was to him, The Painted Man was playing it close to his chest and fully expected Bran to be at peace with that.

"If you would only give me a reason why this matters so much," Bran pled silently. "Maybe then I would understand?I can't, for the life of me, fathom what Lyric's fate has to do with either one of us."

 _She is mine, that's all you need know. Now, are we going to get on with the purchasing of her or should I just kill the old woman now?_

Bran scrubbed at his face and sighed audibly.

"Fine." He acquiesced tiredly. "Alright, you win! Please just allow me do the talking this time? Insulting Lissette will not get you what you want...nor will killing her!" he added when he felt The Painted Man starting to bristle once more. The demon growled lowly in his ear but backed away. He was like a wolf retreating to its den. Bran could still feel his eyes reflecting in the darkness, watching every move he made.

A _lright, I will let things lay as they are for a time._ The Painted Man replied grudgingly. _Go forward with your...transaction. I will not interfere._

"Thank you." Bran said quietly. It was odd to be thanking his demon. It shifted uncomfortably in his thoughts, as though it too found the gratitude to be bizarre. Once he felt that his Dark passenger was sufficiently corralled, he pushed his hair out of his face and headed for the front stairs.

He found Lissette in her sitting room, an embroidery project in her lap though she was not looking at it. Instead, she stared into space, looking worried, her brow furrowed. Constable Montcalm was no longer present so Bran could only assume that he had left or gone to the Slave quarters to interview whoever else he needed to speak with. Bran had to clear his throat to get Lissette's attention. She started, then smiled and stood up from her chair, laying the needlework aside.

"Is she asleep?" Lisette asked him.

"I believe so, she was quite upset when I went in." he replied softly.

"Well, after finding something like that, who wouldn't be?" Lissette said with a humorless little laugh.

"I believe she was more upset over your plans for Miss Lyric than the murder." He revealed, carefully keeping any accusation out of his voice. Lissette's face tightened at the mention of her husband's bastard.

"Yes, well, she was always more fond of the Mongrel than I would have liked." Mrs. Harris bit back tartly.

His demon rustled beneath his skin at the moniker and Bran sent cautioning thoughts his way before replying.

"Well, I have a proposition for you in that regard," He offered and she looked up at him suspiciously, "Clarina has declared she will not marry me if her sister is to be removed from the house."

This part was a lie but one he was fairly sure he could make work in his favor.

"Hmm, yes," Lissette replied, rolling her eyes as though she were already weary of the conversation, "She tried that with me this morning as well. Don't worry yourself about it, Bran. I already told her I would sell the Mongrel if she fought me on this further."

"Yes, _ahem_ , that is especially what I wanted to speak to you about. Why not sell her...to me?"

Lisette went still, her brows drawing together, as she digested his request.

"I don't understand." She said a few seconds later.

"Sell me the…" He stopped himself from using the word 'mongrel', partially because it didn't sit well with him but mostly because the term was making it very hard for him to keep the demon at bay.

"...the girl," He amended, "and I will sell her myself after the wedding. Let Clarina think she has won, that she has saved her sister, and I believe she will be most amenable."

Bran felt sick at his own duplicity but saw no way around it. Much as he was loathe to talk about the buying and selling of someone he really rather liked, he needed Mrs. Harris to believe he would do it. Otherwise, she would find herself murdered in her own sitting room and Bran would have only himself to blame.

"Did Clarina put you up to this?" Lissette asked suspiciously. "Did she ask you to come down here and put this request forward?

"My dear Mrs. Harris, your daughter was far too upset to do more than cry and shake when I spoke to her. She mentioned your plans for the girl but asked nothing of me in regards to her. I only came up with the idea when she insinuated that the marriage would not go forward under such circumstances."

"Indeed." she replied dubiously, her watery eyes narrowing as though she didn't much believe him.

"Listen, I am only offering a solution that will work in both our favors," He continued calmly, "Clarina will only grow more stubborn and dig in her heels if you push her too far. Sell me the girl, let your daughter think she's won, and we can sell Lyric together come Sunday if you like."

Lissette pursed her lips stubbornly. Bran could see she did not _love_ his proposal but that she knew she was between a rock and a hard place. She had played her hand and found that it didn't quite turn out the way she wanted. If she still wanted his father's money, she would have to play another way and that meant keeping her husband's bastard close a while longer.

"Fine." She spat finally. "Just make sure I don't have to see her again after the wedding."

 _Oh, you won't see much of anything after the wedding, I assure you_ , The Painted Man promised ominously.

Bran took a deep breath then held his hand out to Lisette.

"We have a deal then?"

She stared at his hand as though it would burn her and then slowly, oh so slowly, reached out to grasp it with her own.

"We do." she replied flatly.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **And the plot kind of...curdles a little XD**

 **Oooooooh, I wish I could have skipped ahead to Caleb's next chapter but I felt like we really needed a peek into what was going on in Bran's head. We got to see a bit of his relationship with his father (Whose name is pronounced 'onry' for those who are confused). I kind of feel like Henri is the male version of Lissette. Both are greedy, obsessed with reputation, and conniving as hell. I wanted to show him so we can see Bran's home life and a little bit of what he deals with from his overbearing dad.**

 **We also got to see Magua in a rare moment of emotional distress. I almost feel bad for him until I remember that he's been murdering his way through the plot up to this point. I don't think he's gonna be to happy when Caleb is introduced to the equation lol.**

 **Speaking of Caleb, next chapter is his. Like i said last time, he's not dead...he's just taking a little break...in the mud...hugging a cannonball. Seriously, he's fine!**

 ***Goes to check on him***

 **Me: Caleb, dude, you good?**

 ***Gives a bloody thumbs up***

 **See, he's all good! XD**

 **ok, on to music. I feel like every Bran song is going to end up being called Wild Heart. That was a complete accident, btw. I added the song because I thought it fit both the characters really well. It wasn't until I looked back at Bran's last chapter that I realized they had the exact same title. I'm going to laugh if Bran's third title song ends up with the same name again XD**

 **Oh well, it makes things simpler for me I guess.**

 **Yeah, I really wish I had more to say about this chapter but...unfortunately I don't. It's here, it was necessary for plot purposes, it wasn't that painful to write. I hope you guys enjoy it and HOPEFULLY we can now start getting into more exciting stuff. Happy reading and I will see you all next time :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 12**

* * *

" _When I fall asleep I can see your face,_

 _What I lost in you I will not replace,_

 _And I could run away, I could let them down_

 _But I will remember your light"-Like a River Runs, Bleachers_

* * *

"Son," a voice called faintly, from somewhere far away. "Son, can you hear me?"

Caleb frowned and let out a petulant groan.

He did not _want_ to open his eyes. He wasn't sure he was capable of it anyway, not when the lids felt as though they were made out of lead. No, he was content where he was, snug and warm, wrapped in the arms of the mother he hadn't seen in nearly twenty years. She was humming, rocking him, much as she had when he was very young. Caleb finally felt safe, something he hadn't felt in a very long time. He had no interest in going back to that hard world of harsh light and senseless violence.

"Son," that annoyingly familiar voice persisted. It was louder now, growing closer. "You need to open your eyes."

Caleb furrowed his brow, not appreciating the interruption. Burrowing deeper against his mother's breast, he scowled. No, he would _not_ open his eyes, he refused. His mother, for her part, continued humming. The cadence of her voice rising and falling softly, a tune that was becoming all too familiar

 _Dreams like the castles that sleep in the sand,_ she began singing softly, _Medhel an Gwyns...medhel an Gwyns…_

It was those words, _Medhel an Gwyns_ , that ultimately snapped him to attention. They burrowed beneath his skin, digging and pushing against his consciousness in a way that he couldn't ignore. His mother, a Choctaw woman born and bred, had never spoken any language other than her native tongue. She could not possibly be singing _that_ song. It was too recent in his memory to be associated with her, it belonged to someone else, it was...

 _Slip through their fingers or held in their hands…_

No, this was all wrong, Caleb thought, this wasn't his mother's song! He felt the illusion he had created begin to fracture around the edges. Bird song filtered in to replace his mother's voice. It cracked and warped, morphing into the screech of cicadas and tree frogs. Her scent altered next; no longer the scent of pungent, warm soil and fresh herbs. It was now nothing more than the stench of rancid, stagnant swamp water.

Wrinkling his nose, Caleb let out a hiss. The flesh near his hairline felt stiff and achey. Degree by degree, the pleasant dream shattered around him. Only when his mother's arms faded into nothing more than warm mud did Caleb finally attempt to blink open his eyes.

At first, he could discern little more than glistening wet dirt at the end of a pale shadow that he dully realized was his own nose. He blinked several more times, waiting for the world to come back into focus and had no clue how he had ended up where he was. He kept trying to remember but came up with only a gaping black hole where the memory should have been. Why was he lying in the dirt, in the stinking swamp? Why did his head hurt so much?

"Can you hear me, Redman?" The familiar voice queried from somewhere above and behind him. A strong hand jostled his shoulder gently.

Slowly, painfully, Caleb was rolled onto his back. He squinted up into the dusty and wizened features of The Rabbi, who peered back at him worriedly. The man's bearded lips were covered in dust and dirt and his spectacles had gone missing. Caleb coughed and gritted his teeth as Saul helped him up into a sitting position.

"You all right there, kid?" the older man asked, his Boston accent changing the words into something closer to 'Ah raht'. Gently, he tilted Caleb's head to the side and inspected that throbbing, painful area near his hairline.

"Well, I'm not dead." Caleb returned raspily.

"Not yet anyway." Saul murmured distractedly. He probed the wound with gentle fingers until Caleb gave a pained grimace.

"You'll have a one hell of a _shtoysn_ ," the old man told him matter of factly. "But I think you'll live."

"A what?" Caleb coughed.

He squinted at the older man in the dim sunlight filtering through the haze. Either he had been rendered momentarily stupid or Saul was speaking a whole other language.

"A _Shtoysn_ ," Saul repeated, gesturing as though the phrase should make perfect sense. "You know, a bump."

Caleb only grunted in reply and rubbed his eyes before wearily glancing around. As he had already figured out, they were in the swamp, though how deep was anyone's guess. The green, stinking water of the Bayou had been transformed into a veritable sea of dead bodies. They bobbed on the surface like autumn apples tossed carelessly into a barrel. Already a few birds had arrived to peck at those who lay sprawled on the algae covered surface. They rode the corpses down the river as if they were gruesome canoes.

Caleb's recollection of what had led him to this place was still patchy though he _did_ recall the scrimmage. He remembered the rebel forces spilling out of the cane fields and the dust making it impossible to see anything. He remembered aiming his rifle and then...there had been a girl. He had seen a beautiful dark haired girl with golden eyes, standing in all that carnage and death. He had called out to her and she had heard him. That girl, she was important somehow. He didn't know her name, he knew only that she was waiting for him. The song he had heard in his dream belonged to _her_ and he was trying to...what?

It seemed as though there was something more pressing trying to surface at the back of his memory, something unrelated to the girl. He had been searching for something _before_ he had seen her, he remembered scanning the sea of writhing bodies for...for...

"Gray!" he suddenly croaked.

Caleb attempted to get up but a sudden stabbing pain in his head had him doubling over. He fell onto his knees, resting his head against the ground with a pained cry. Saul moved forward to help, pushing his hands away and guiding the younger man back to lean back against a tree stump once again.

"Easy now, kid." The old man cautioned. "You're gonna have to take it slow."

"What I _need_ is to find my friend." Caleb gritted out between clenched teeth. "I lost sight of him during the battle, I-"

"If you're talking 'bout Mouth," Saul interjected, reassuringly. "He's fine."

'Mouth', Gray's nickname within their unit, his swiss cheesed brain filled in quickly. The other men had started calling him that due to his large toothy smile. The fact that he had a penchant for mouthing off to anyone in authority hadn't helped either. It was an apt nickname and one he didn't seem to mind very much.

"Well, not _fine_ ," Saul amended with a frown, "But he _is_ alive. He was screaming bloody murder when I found him, took a bullet to the leg. He's over there."

Saul gestured with his head in the direction of a long, bloody lump that was lying near to a fallen tree. At first, Caleb couldn't make anything out to indicate it was a person, much less his friend. It appeared to be nothing more than a bundle of tattered, filthy rags. Then, as though sensing Caleb's eyes, the lump shifted, and a shaggy, blonde head lifted to squint over at him with startlingly blue eyes.

"Caleb?" Gray gasped out. "That you?"

"Yeah," he answered before giving another hiss and leaning his head back against the tree. "Mostly intact. You?"

"Went down about fifteen minutes into the battle, took a ball to the leg." Gray explained in a strained voice. " I lost sight of you in all that smoke and I thought…"He took a sharp breath and clenched his teeth, unable to continue.

"Yeah, right," Caleb cracked, shooting his friend a weak grin, "Didn't I promise Anna I'd keep you grounded? Besides, who else is gonna listen to me prattle on about my stupid dreams?"

Saul chuckled at their banter before letting out a pained hiss of his own. He pulled his right arm in against his chest, his grey, bearded face a mask of barely contained agony. Caleb glanced at the old man out of the corner of his eye.

"Arm broken or shot?" He asked solemnly.

"It's the shoulder," Saul returned flatly. "If I'm lucky it's only strained but I suspect something's torn."

"Where's everyone else?" Gray interrupted, wearily looking around at what he could see from his prone position on the ground. "We can't be all that's left!"

"Not sure," Saul grunted back, "Most were taken prisoner. A bunch of us took off for the swamp when Greene's men showed up, the rest were either killed or arrested. I only managed to find you and Caleb and _that_ was purely by accident."

"What about Lieutenant Leake or General Montgomery?" Caleb asked hopefully.

"If they escaped, I haven't seen them." Saul replied gravely. "They're probably halfway to a southern prison camp by now."

The group was quiet for a time, listening to the sounds of the Bayou while they tried to get their bearings. There were no set rule for situations like this. They were deep within enemy territory and good rule of thumb would have been to try and find what was left of their unit, assuming there _was_ anyone left. Otherwise, they needed to report to the nearest Union outpost. The closest one was miles away in New Orleans and Caleb didn't know how they were going to get there with no horses and two moderately injured men.

"Don't mind my sayin' it but _uh_ ain't you a little... old...to be fightin' in the war?" Gray asked Saul carefully.

"Fine talk, coming from the _idyot_ with a ball in his leg!" Saul shot back dryly. "I might be old but at least I managed to keep from going down five minutes in."

There was a moment of silence following the old man's clipped words and, for a minute, Caleb feared a fight might erupt. Gray's pride was a fragile thing on the best of days and he didn't think his friend would take being accused of weakness lightly. Surprisingly though, a few seconds later, the two of them began to laugh. Caleb looked between them, baffled, wondering what he was missing.

"Got me there!" Gray conceded. "But at least I can say I didn't take a nap with a cannonball."

Gray laughed loudly at his own joke and Saul snorted, rolling his eyes. Caleb knew that he was the butt of this particular joke but was failing to find the humor in it. He remembered the cannonball now, the explosion of earth and the girl's cry of horror as he was thrown backwards. He was lucky to be alive so he didn't find Gray's jab about his near concussion to be all that amusing.

"If you're done poking fun at everyone's injuries, can we focus on what exactly we intend to do here?" Caleb snapped dryly.

His words sobered Gray up and the group fell once again into an awkward silence, realizing they were indeed going to have to figure something out. What they really needed was a town, preferably one with a doctor. His friend might be laughing and cutting up now but that leg was going to need to be looked at by a medic. There was only so much time before infection and gangrene would start to set in and then he'd really be in trouble. Saul didn't look like he was doing so great with that shoulder either.

"We can't stay here," Caleb finally mumbled, glancing around again, "eventually it's going to get dark and then the Alligators will start hunting. I really don't want to be near the water when that happens."

"Mouth is in no condition to walk, Son." The Rabbi pointed out quietly.

Caleb looked over at Gray who met his gaze squarely, if a bit painfully.

"Gray, do you think you can move if we support you?" Caleb asked.

"Do I have a choice?" Gray responded tightly, looking dismally down at his blood soaked limb. It really did look bad. Saul had done the best he could binding it with some tree branches and tying off the area in a makeshift sling. Unfortunately, with their lack of bandages, it was like putting a cheese cloth over a water bucket. It did little to staunch the flow of blood and already looked like it would need to be changed again soon.

The men took stock of their resources before they went anywhere. It was discovered that, between them, they had three knives, a rifle, and two pistols. Gray had lost both of his firearms somewhere between the Levee and the Swamp and Caleb had lost his rifle after the cannon ball had knocked him out. Thankfully, he still had his pistol. Saul was the only one with both weapons and between the three of them they had more bullets than they did guns. Everyone still had their knives but that was it. They had no rations, no medical equipment, no one was looking for them. Their situation looked decidedly dire.

"This is gonna hurt." Caleb warned as he and Saul slowly rose to their feet and walked over to kneel by Gray. They had finished swapping out equipment, Caleb would carry the larger rifle over his shoulder and both pistols in holsters at his belt. Being the only minorly injured one in their party, it was only logical that he be the one to carry the weapons. Saul carried a pack they had found floating at the edge of the swamp. There wasn't much in it save for an extra shirt, a cooking pan, and some soggy Hardtack but they would take what they could get.

Working together, they managed to get Gray upright. He couldn't contain a cry of pain when they settled him back on his feet. Each of them pulled one of Gray's arms around their shoulders, attempting to take some pressure off his bad leg. Looking down at it, Caleb winced. The limb looked downright unsalvageable. It was a bloody, ruined mess and Caleb wondered if a few of Grey's toes weren't already goners.

"You're not gonna be dancing for awhile." Caleb cracked as they began moving forward slowly.

"Yeah well," Gray panted as the motion jostled his leg, "There'll be plenty.. _huff_...plenty of girls... thankful for that!"

Caleb chuckled and then there was no more room for conversation. He and Saul had to lift Gray bodily over fallen branches before stepping over them themselves. By the time they made it through the thick trees and out onto a dirt path, they were all sweating. Gray was ashen, looking nauseated with just that little bit of movement. Caleb didn't know how far they would get before he passed out entirely.

"Which way…" Gray swallowed around the words, groaning in agony, "Which way do we go?"

"Dunno," Caleb mumbled, adjusting his friend's arm and shaking his hair out of his eyes, "which direction will take us to New Orleans?"

"Should be West of here." Saul replied, pulling a compass out of his pocket and studying it.

"Think there's a town between here and there?" Caleb asked, hopefully.

"Better be, this one won't last long enough to walk that far."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here." Gray grumbled back shakily.

"I vote we stay as close to the river as possible and see where this road takes us," Saul suggested, nodding with his head down the dusty road, "We're not going to make New Orleans for a couple of days at least and _that_ would only be if we were all at our best."

Caleb couldn't argue with him. The river gave them a water source and water generally led to civilization. They could boil some of it when the need arose and they could fish to sustain themselves. Even though they still had quite a few bullets between them, Caleb was loathe to waste them on hunting large game. The sound of gunfire could draw the attention of any nearby Confederates and that was the last thing they needed. With any luck, they would reach a town or even a house where they might be able to conscript a few items.

"Ready to do this, Gray?" He asked. His friend swallowed loudly and nodded his head in response.

Working as a team they made their way down the dusty road, keeping their ears open for the sound of the river or marching boots or anything else that they might come upon. They didn't speak, for words weren't necessary, as they marched forward into an uncertain future.

They walked for what felt like hours but was probably no more than an hour to an hour and a half. Gray passed out after 15 minutes, forcing Caleb and Saul to half carry, half drag him a vast majority of the distance. To make matters worse, they had to duck into the foliage on more than one occasion when the sound of horse's hooves rumbled in the distance. At one point, a wagon full of Confederate soldiers passed within a few feet of their hiding spot.

"We're gonna have to lose these union Jackets." Caleb decided after the wagon disappeared from sight. "We're too obvious in them and it's too damn hot for them anyway."

The two men shucked off their jackets and worked together to get Gray's off of him. They balled them up and secured them in the one and only pack they had between them. Gray mumbled incoherently as they hauled him back up onto his feet.

"I think he's going feverish." Saul commented as they worked their way back out onto the road. Between incoherent mumblings, Anna's name could be heard. Caleb swallowed a lump in his throat at the memory of the girl whose death had utlimately propelled them into this war.

"I'm not sure how much more of this he can take." The old man warned gravely.

Caleb frowned as he studied his friends profile. He was indeed ashen, his skin wet and sticky to the touch, though whether that was from fever or the godforsaken Louisiana heat, he couldn't be sure. He hung limp between them, no longer conscious enough to hold up his head.

"We're gonna have to find somewhere secluded to make camp." Caleb replied grudgingly. He was loathe to stop moving but Saul was right. Gray did not look good and he didn't want to be responsible for making his already grave injury that much worse. Glancing at both sides of the road, he frowned because there was nowhere obvious to go from his current vantage point. It looked as though they were going to have to go back into the swamp and that was not an eventuality that thrilled him.

Working together, they lifted Gray over plants and brush and found a place far enough from the road but close enough to the water that they would be able to see if anyone or anything was coming for them. Once Gray was settled, he and Saul worked on gathering wood to build a fire. Once that task was accomplished, they dug around for anything in which they could boil water. The cooking pail shoved at the bottom of pack was all they had. it wouldn't heat up much water but it was better than nothing. Since they weren't going anywhere for a while, Caleb figured they could heat enough for a canteen or two. Once the first round of water was set to warming, they finally settled in.

"Anna...Anna…" Gray muttered over and over. His fingers digging into the soil, clawing it as he thrashed from side to side. His lips still moved but no further sound came out.

"Who's Anna?" Saul asked offhandedly

The Rabbi was adjusting his arm into a makeshift sling that he had crafted out of the extra shirt in the pack. Caleb started when he realized the old man was speaking to him, He had been so busy musing over their situation that he had barely paid attention to what was coming out of his unit mate's mouth.

"Anna Marie." He corrected quietly. "She was _uh_ …" He cleared his throat loudly before continuing, "She was Gray's wife. She died."

"Sorry to hear." Saul grunted. "Hard thing to lose someone you love."

"Yeah." Caleb muttered back.

"Seems like he might not be the only one who lost her." Saul commented carefully.

"Anna was...unique." Caleb replied. "I knew her almost as long as I've know him. She made everyone feel welcome. I promised her-" He cut himself off, suddenly unable to finish. An image of her face flashed through his mind, of her smile as she waited on the porch while the two of them hauled in a fish they had caught. It was followed next by her waxen, strained features as she made him promise to look out for Gray.

 _You keep him grounded,_ She commanded dimly from the back of his memory.

"I take it there's no 'Missus Redman' waiting for you back home?" Saul prodded carefully.

"No," Caleb replied with a dry chuckle. "No, nothing like that."

There _was_ a dusky skinned Creole girl waiting for him somewhere out there, he reminded himself, but that situation was too bizarre to try and explain so he didn't bother.

"And you? Any family waiting on you back home in Boston?" He asked, turning the old man's question back on him.

"I had a wife and two sons...once." Saul revealed quietly.

"Once?" Caleb repeated, pulling his brows together in confusion.

"Don't mind my asking," Saul said, suddenly switching gears, "How does an Indian end up fighting for the Union? Your people mostly keep to themselves, don't they?"

"How does a Jew end up fighting?" Caleb countered simply. "Last time I checked, _your_ people wanted nothing to do with this war?"

He didn't know much about the Jewish community. Hell, Saul was probably the only Jew he had ever met but he had heard that they were largely ignoring the war, regarding the issues of slavery and secession to not be _their_ problem. He was also fairly certain that Saul wasn't trying to be prejudiced with his inquiry but if he could make generalizations then so could Caleb.

"Touche." Saul returned, giving him a sad sort of smile.

"The short answer," Caleb relented with a sigh after a brief moment of silence, "is that I don't have a 'people' anymore."

"My tribe was decimated when I was small." He raised a knee to rest his arm on it. "Us children were rounded up and sent to orphanages as part of an 'assimilation' effort. I'm here because I made a promise to Anna before she died." He glanced over at Gray's slumbering form and added, "The only 'people' I had were her and that idiot lying over there."

"Well, your reasons are purer than mine." The old man commented sullenly. 'I was simply trying to die."

"Die? What-?"

"It's a complicated story." Saul interjected dismissively.

"Well, we've got time," Caleb countered. "Unless you have somewhere to be that is?" He added that last with a half smile.

"It's not the most uplifting story." The old man warned. Caleb shrugged in reply.

"Gotta be better than 'I joined to keep that idiot alive'."

At that, Saul gave a chuckle and shook his head.

"You two remind me of them, my boys. One was always following the other and getting into some kind of mischief. Abram, the oldest, even helped his brother to enlist. I should have known that Jaime would follow whatever his older brother decided to do."

He looked wistful for a couple of seconds.

"His hair was dark like yours." Saul revealed quietly, giving Caleb a sad up and down glance.

"So, what happened? What landed you out here?" Caleb prodded gently.

"Well, everyone knows that I was a Banker before all this," Saul began, "but what they don't know is that I, like the vast majority of my people, had no interest in this war."

The old man took a deep breath, as though the very act of putting his story into words was exhausting. He looked tired as he told his tale, worn, as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Abram was the first to start talking about enlisting. He and his brother were so fired up with youthful zeal that there was no talking them out of it. I was so furious with Abram in the beginning... and my wife, well, to say Abi was inconsolable would be an understatement!"

Again with that deep breath. It was obvious that this story was not going to have a happy resolution.

"I could barely speak through my anger when they shipped out. In fact, I think my final words to Abram were 'If he dies, I'll never forgive you.' I blamed him for his Jaime's decision, you see. The boy was only 16."

Saul paused in his narrative, whether because of intense emotional pain or because he needed to take a moment, Caleb didn't know. After a few heartbeats he continued:

"They were stationed together, which gave us some hope. For a while, it all seemed to go rather routinely...until the letters stopped. We didn't hear anything for weeks and then we got the notice. My boys-"

Here, he choked up, swallowing audibly several times. Caleb watched him rapidly blink before burying whatever emotion had arrested him.

"My wife couldn't take it. I buried myself in work, I was barely home. I couldn't stand that large empty house that had once been filled with their laughter. I don't think Abi could either. One evening, long before I arrived home, she swallowed a handful of Opiates and..."

He let the sentence trail off. A single tear ran down his face but Caleb wasn't certain he was aware of it. He watched the man sniff, wiping a sleeve under his dripping nose.

"I couldn't stand the house after that. I buried my Abi next to our sons and the next day I enlisted. Our Temple hailed me as some kind of hero, said I was standing up to the 'lions of injustice' or some such rot. The truth was that I simply wanted to die."

There was such heaviness and sorrow attached to that last word. It hung in the air between them like a physical thing. No wonder Saul had always been so reticent. If that had been _his_ past, Caleb wouldn't have wanted to share it either.

"But," Saul sighed then, "It seems fate has other plans. Something has been keeping me alive all this time."

 _Or someone_ , Caleb thought to himself though he had no idea where that sudden notion had come from. Just because he was having dreams about some other...him... didn't mean Saul was experiencing the same thing.

"Anyway, that's my story." Saul finished heavily. "I told you it wasn't very uplifting."

"Well, I'm glad you're here either way." Caleb told him. "If you hadn't found us and dragged us from the water, both Gray and I would be dead right now."

"Yeah, well, don't speak too soon," The old man warned. "We're not out of the swamp yet and we still have no idea what we're going to find at the end of that road."

 _Wasn't that the truth,_ Caleb thought dismally.

They didn't speak further and boredom finally compelled Caleb to go fishing at the edge of the Bayou for their dinner. Having no rod, he fashioned a simple one out of a sturdy, curved stick. Not having anything resembling a hook either, he searched the surrounding area until he found some thorns on a nearby bush. He cut off a barb and whittled it until it resembled a makeshift hook. That accomplished, he dug up some Nightcrawlers and jabbed the twisting, wriggly creatures on the end of the thorn before tying it to the rod with an old lace. God only knew if it would stay on once the line was in the water.

Caleb lowered the line and waited. He was going to be waiting for a long time, he realized dismally, and not just for a fish either. He was waiting to die, or to live, or to be imprisoned...and there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it!

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **Wow, its been a long time since I updated. I really didn't expect it to take me THIS long. Part of it was that I had a month full of moving and cleaning and unpacking to contend with. The husband and I finally bought a house again so we've been spending the last month trying to get everything set up the way we want it. I also had to get our kid registered for school in the fall, and signed up for swimming lessons so that ate into a large chunk of my time. Then we went to Hawaii for a couple of days, which was fun aside from me getting horribly sea sick on the snorkling boat. I did gain a new appreciation for Mai tai's though. XD**

 **Then I had this weird spat of clinical depression that for the life of me I cannot explain. Maybe its the fallout from the Election or something, I don't know, but I've just been a tightly wound ball of stress lately. I've also been missing Traci (My friend that died for those that didn't read the authors note on Mine). I think its probably because I've been watching Anne with an E on Netflix and it really reminds me of her. It's also a month shy from the day she died so that probably doesn't help either.**

 **Anyway, I FINALLY made it to Caleb's chapter. Took long enough, right? This was originally going to be another Lyric chapter but I felt so bad that he had been left lying in the mud for so long that I decided to rearrange this chapter and the next on. I also felt bad that Caleb was getting largely ignored in this section of the story. Thankfully, I don't lose anything doing it this way and I think it made things flow a bit more smoothly too.**

 **We get to know Saul a bit more in this chapter. Since I don't have any stand alone POV's planned for him I figured this was a good time to get more into his character. For those of you who remember my original draft, Saul is no longer Solomon and no longer Scottish. I don't know exactly when this shift happened but as I was writing the new version of this story he just morphed into someone else along with it. His backstory isn't all that different though so I obviously didn't change everything.**

 **I realized a made an unintentional parallel with Saul's wife taking her own life with Opiates and Lyric's mother ALSO taking her life with Opiates. I really hadn't thought about it until I was editing. I think I originally had his wife shooting herself but since Saul is a banker now and the owner of a rather wealthy household, I just didn't see him being careless enough to leave a loaded pistol lying around. Plus it wasn't unusual for ladies of that time to have 'Miracles cures' and whatever else on hand. I made Saul assume she killed herself but its also possible that she just took too many pills in an attempt to get some sleep and stop thinking about her own grief.**

 **God, I must have shifted and edited and added to this chapter a million times over while writing it. It used to end when they got Gray to his feet and started down the road but I felt like that wasn't a very satisfying chapter, especially when its taken me so long to get to this point. So i decided to use the opportunity to pad out Saul's character a little more. Caleb is pretty displeased with me for making him hang out in the bug infested bayou while this is happening but I gave him the choice of what you read or an 80's style dance party. When I informed him that an 80's style dance party WOULD result in him having to sport a man perm he decided to suck it up a little longer XD**

 **Moving on to music, I only have the one song for this chapter which also changed several times over before I got here. I ended up choosing Like a River Runs by Bleachers. It talks a lot about dreams so I felt like it worked well for the metaphysical aspects of the story (Though I think most of the song is actually about someone dying). Obviously Caleb doesn't think Lyric is dead (There's a line about remembering the persons 'light') but I think he also knows he can't just run off on his friends to try and find her either.**

 **Ok, this Authors Note has prattled on long enough, I think. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I'm sorry it took so freaking long for me to get it uploaded. Hopefully the next chapter will not be as long in coming. I'm getting back into a pattern of normalcy so here's hoping i can get another couple of chapter up before the summer is out. Happy reading and I will see you all next time!**


	14. Chapter 14

**C hapter 13**

* * *

 _I'll be a thorn in your side_

' _Til you die_

 _I'll be a thorn in your side_

 _For always_

 _If we sink, we lift our love-We Sink-Chvrches_

* * *

"I'm uneasy about this, Delphine." Lyric said warily, hanging back and hugging herself as they lingered outside the dilapidated shack. "This all feels...wrong somehow."

"Do you want answers or not?" Delphine chided her, gesturing at the door with an impatient hand. "You ain't gonta find 'em diggin' through your Manman's book, I cans tell ya dat."

Lyric exhaled loudly through her nose, pulling her lips into a tight line. It was an effort to gather enough courage just to walk up those steps and knock on the door. It was only one woman, after all, and an old one at that. What was she going to do, chant Lyric to death? Rubbing her arms against the sudden chill that tried to climb up her spine, she squared her shoulders and fought the urge to run far, far away from this place.

"You're certain she can help?" Lyric asked for what must have been the hundredth time.

" _Moun k'ap sèvi Bondye prezève nou_!" Delphine muttered under her breath. Then she sighed and walked over to drape an arm around Lyrics shoulders. She gave the nervous girl a reassuring squeeze and fixed her with a level stare.

"Ol' Edwige is the only one can tells ya what you need to know and she ain't gonta eat you!"

Lyric wasn't so sure about that last part but Delphine was right. She knew it was now or never, and Georgina wasn't likely to excuse them from work for a second time. They were lucky she had been superstitious enough to let them go _this_ time.

"Alright," she finally relented, swallowing her apprehension. "Let's get this over with."

Lyric pushed forward on shaky legs and shoved aside any parallels her brain tried to draw with this shack and the one from her nightmare that morning. All the shacks on the property looked the same, she told herself, they all smelled the same. They all had rickety steps like these, that creaked when trodden upon. She was merely trying to find an excuse to run.

Her ascent up the stairs felt like it took far too long, as though time had slowed down with each tentative footfall. When she finally reached the door she knocked cautiously and jumped when it suddenly swung inward on its own. The rusted hinges creaked horribly, bringing to mind the doorway of an old tomb. Peering around the corner, she discovered a space that was decorated with all manner of Voodoo paraphernalia.

Gator bones hung in the doorway, clacking gently in the breeze that blew in around the open door. Colorful, hanging glass tinkled gently in the open window while jars, poultices, gris-gris bags, and other mystical objects were literally squirreled into every available corner. The room itself smelled odd, like earth and incense and some kind of burning oil.

" _Ahem_ ," Lyric cleared her throat before attempting to speak, "H-Hello?"

There was not an immediate response. She looked around around until her eyes fell on a diminutive woman, sitting on a raised pallet on the other side of the room. The old woman, presumably Ol' Edwige, sat very still, unmoving and unblinking, as Lyric took a hesitant step inside. She was broad of features, with a large nose and wide thin lips. She took no notice of Lyric as she lingered like a nervous cat in the doorway.

"Well go on!" Delphine hissed behind her. How she had managed to come up those steps so quietly was a mystery. She gave Lyric a gentle push at the small of her back to get her moving.

Stepping further into the room, she kept her hands held against her breasts, as though she were afraid to touch anything. Delphine came in behind her and quietly shut the door.

"Who 'dere?" The old woman suddenly barked. Lyric jumped and let out a quiet _hah_ of surprise. Ol' Edwige's voice was dry and raspy, ousting her as far older than her appearance would have them believe.

"We seek council, old mother." Delphine replied respectfully when Lyric could not seem to find her voice.

"One o' you seeks it but not da one doin' the talkin'." Edwige clipped raspily. Her voice was like a husk of corn being shucked. Lyric swallowed audibly before taking another step forward.

"I um...I need your help…" she found she didn't even know how to phrase what it was she needed. She suddenly felt very stupid and awkward having come to this place. She had to fight the urge to turn on her heel and flee the room all over again.

"Speak up, girl!" The old woman barked impatiently.

"I-I need...I need to know what happening to me." Lyric finished quickly. She felt her face going red in embarrassment.

"Having pains, are ya? Sickness in da mornin'?" The old woman queried, her broad face splitting in a knowing kind of smile. "Need me ta make you a draft fer an unwanted burden?"

"What? No!" Lyric blanched, realizing the old woman thought she was seeking to end a pregnancy. "Nothing like that!"

"What den? Why else seek me out?"

"I...I'm having dreams and...seeing things." She explained awkwardly. "I need answers. I need to know why these things are happening to me."

Edwige was quiet for a few moments after Lyric finished speaking, so much so that she wondered if the old woman had fallen asleep or gone into a sort of trance. She went back to staring, as though Delphine and Lyric were no longer present. Lyric peered curiously at her placid face and then blinked in surprise.

 _She's blind_ , Lyric realized, taking note of the old woman's pale, almost milky eyes. She cast a glance at Delphine over her shoulder and mouthed the word 'blind?' back at her. Delphine shook her head and pointed back at the woman who was still sitting like a statue on the pallet.

"Oh, don't let dese ol' eyes deceive you, chil'." Old Edwige suddenly laughed, as though she were perfectly aware of their silent conversation. "I has ears. Priestess, da wind say. Raw unharnessed talent, say da spirits...but I ask again, why seek me out? Met you yer match wi' da craft?"

"I know nothing of spirits," Lyric replied quietly, "and I am no Priestess. That was my mother but she's... gone now."

"Tell me about yer Mam." The old woman commanded. Lyric started at the demand and had to take a moment before she was able to answer.

"Well, she was an herbalist mostly." Lyric explained slowly, "Sometimes she conjured or cursed but to me she was just _Manman_."

"She were very much like you," Old Edwige interjected, "Strong willed, determined...at least until da end."

"Yes, she _uh_...she took her own life." Lyric forced out around the lump in her throat. It was still painful to say it out loud.

"She faltered." The old woman corrected simply. "You will not."

Lyric had no response to that.

"Come 'ere den," The old woman commanded next, holding out a withered hand to her, "an' show Ol' Edwige yo' mother's eyes."

Lyric took a deep breath before complying, even looking over her shoulder at Delphine who gestured that she should do as the old woman asked. She approached slowly, as though Edwige were a poisonous serpent who should be given a wide berth. When she was within range, the old woman's hand shot out and took hold of her arm.

Lyric gasped as a feeling like ice water ran through her veins. She wanted to pull away but found that she couldn't move. Old Edwige rose to her feet, peering up into Lyric's face with those milky, dead eye's.

"Dere she be." The old woman crooned. "Dere's da one!"

Her other hand shot out and raked sharp nails down Lyrics other arm, opening the skin to draw a pinprick of blood in one of four long scratches. The old woman wiped dabbed at the little spot of blood with one gnarled finger and brought it to her mouth, smearing the blood along her lower lip. Lyric watched in disgust as a gray tongue poked out to lick it away.

"Two minds, one body, fightin' fo' dominance." the old woman gasped, her small frame shivering and quaking, her eyes rolling back in her head.

"Two personalities, like night an' day."

Old Edwige hissed as though in pain, one withered hand coming up to grip her chest tightly.

"A promise...made in desperation. Seeking...always seeking…"

"Seeking what?" Lyric whispered, hoarsely. The Old woman drew in a rattling breath and went very still, then her eyes rolled back down and when they looked up into Lyrics they were now a deep, chocolate brown.

" _I will always find you."_ A deep, male voice issued from Edwidge's throat. The same voice from her dream.

Lyric pulled her arm away with a cry and held the injured flesh of her arm tightly with one hand. The old woman slumped forward, her head falling against her chest as she took in a shaking, ragged breath. After a few moments she straightened to stare back at Lyric with eyes that had once again gone pale.

"You be in danger, little Priestess. You carry danger wit' you wherever you go." Old Edwige warned her flatly.

"What danger?" Lyric demanded, hauled out of fear and into anger at being manhandled and hurt.

"You will have ta learn how ta protect yo'self or risk becomin' lost."

"To what?"

"Not _what_ , girl! _Whom_! Da other you is fightin' her way to da surface and she will not be denied dat which she seek!"

"The other...me?" Lyric repeated, not understanding. She thought back to the ritual she had tried to perform earlier, the name she had seen in the flash of light. Was 'Uncas' what this other 'her' was looking for?

"What did you mean by 'two minds in one body'?" Lyric asked when she could find her voice again. "Who made a promise? Who is seeking something?"

"Dese are not answers I can easily give, you need ta look within fo' them."

"How do I do that? I came to you for answers and you're only giving me more questions!" Lyric cried, exasperated now.

"Po' lamb," the old woman crooned, her voice becoming suddenly soothing and affectionate, "You'll burn. She'll burn her way right out o' you."

Lyric could only stare at Old Edwige with a mix of exasperation and fear. She didn't understand any of this. This entire encounter had been a mistake, she thought, she should never have let Delphine convince her to come here. She didn't know how to 'look within' or give this other 'her' whatever it was she sought. The old woman settled wearily back on her pallet.

"You mentioned visions? I suspect yer answers can be found dere. What you need ta do is dis: Find yo'self a blue candle, a white one, and a stick o' cinnamon incense. Does you know how ta write?"

Lyric nodded her head before remembering that the old woman couldn't see her. She mumbled an affirmative and Edwige continued.

"When you light da candles, make sure you lights da incense wit' da blue candle specifically, da ritual won't work otherwise. Leave da candles lit until da incense is completely burned out. Den you write yo' question down. Pour da ashes of da incense on top o' it, fold it and hold it tight, den close yo' eyes an' say:

 _It is an answer dat I seek,_

 _In this vision i'll take a peek."_

Lyrics head was spinning but she nodded and mumbled back the incantation. Only when Old Edwige was sure she had it memorized, did she continue.

"When you's done, hold da folded paper against yo' chest. Dat should provide the answers you's lookin' fo'. I encourage you ta do dis sooner rather dan later though, lest _she_ become impatient."

"Will this spell tell me what she wants?" Lyric asked cautiously. She was loath to even try the spell despite all the old woman's assurances that it would tell her what she needed to know.

'With any luck, it will show you." the woman replied tiredly.

Lyric started to thank her and then shook her head and turned for the door. Halfway there, she stopped and turned back again.

"Delphine said something about a favor as payment?" She queried quietly.

"When dere's somethin' I be needin', I'll send fo' you. You best be gettin' on now."

Lyric took a deep breath and gave a curt nod before hurrying out the door. She found Delphine on the porch, having retreated outside at some point during the conversation. The girl glanced up expectantly as Lyric came forward.

"She give you some answers?" her friend queried hopefully.

"Yes and no." Lyric replied. "She gave me a spell to try."

"Are you gonta do it?" Delphine pressed.

"I don't know." Lyric replied wearily.

They walked back toward the house in silence, having little else to talk about. Lyric mused over the revelation that there was someone else residing inside her. If it hadn't been for all the strange occurrences happening lately, she would have laughed at the notion outright. She didn't feel any different. Shouldn't she be aware of another 'entity' sharing space with her? Then there was the question of who or, what, this 'Uncas', was. Why did the other her want to find it/him so badly anyway?

Her train of thought was abruptly cut off when they stumbled upon a bustle of activity on the path leading up to the Main House. Slaves ran here and there, whispering to one another, shooting curious glances in Lyric and Delphine's direction. The girls looked at one another in bewilderment as a valet named Sébastien came hurrying towards them.

Sébastien's face was drawn and disturbed as he approached. He stopped before the two women and murmured quietly to Delphine in a dialect of Creole that Lyric wasn't familiar with. She watched the girl's face blanch as she raised a shaking hand. It fluttered idly at the base of her throat.

"What? What's happened?" Lyric asked worriedly.

"It's... Cosette," Delphine stammered, her voice dazed and numb sounding, "Sh-she's..."

"What, Delphine, what?" Lyric cried, taking the girl's shoulders in her hands.

"Dead." Delphine finished hollowly.

She was silent for a split second, a deep, ragged breath escaped her lips before her knees gave out beneath her. Sébastien caught her before she collided with the ground, murmuring soothing words in that strange other dialect of his. Delphine let out a cry that was so agonized that several slaves stopped what they were doing to stare. Lyric didn't think she had ever heard such a sound come out of another living being before.

" _Oh, zanmi m '! Mwen dezole!"_ Lyric gasped, leaning forward to wrap her arms around her friend's waist. The girl shook with the force of her grief, sandwiched between Lyric and Sébastien as they struggled to keep her upright.

"S-she was...she was all I h-had after they sold _Manman_ …" Delphine sobbed.

"I know, I'm so sorry." Lyric said back soothingly.

They held Delphine until the girl's broken sobs finally ceased and she was able to stand on her own once again. Lyric noted Sébastien's stricken face over Delphine's shoulder as he grudgingly released her. How long had he harbored feelings for the girl? Was Delphine aware of it? After a few seconds, she straightened and mopped at her wet cheeks with one dark hand.

"I don't understand" she mumbled, sniffing. "Who would kill Cosette? She never bothered no one."

"Someone killed her?" Lyric gasped. She had assumed an accident had befallen the girl, not that she had been dispatched by an unknown assailant.

"Da Constable lookin' fo' ya." Sébastien told her solemnly. "He been questionin' all da slaves."

"The Constable?" Lyric repeated. What was the Constable doing here for a slave murder? Wasn't that beneath him, as a white man, to investigate the death of a colored person?

"Yep, he got da whole house in a tizzy. Missus sent me ta get da doctah fo' Miss Clarina 'bout an hour ago. I's only heard a bit but Horatio say she dun found the body."

"Wait...Clarina found Cosette?" Lyric repeated. "How..Why.. what about the doctor?"

"We don got time ta go over it, Miss Lyric!" Sébastien told her gently but firmly. "Iffin you want answers den you gonna haveta ask Miss Clarina. Da Constable need ta talk to Miss Delphine now."

He was right, of course. They led the numb girl down the path that would take them to the Slave quarters and Lyric mused over this new development. A slave girl was dead, Clarina had found her, the Constable and the Doctor had both been sent for...what had happened in the hour or so they had spent at Edwidge's shack?

Lyric glanced arbitrarily over to see Delphine's hand gripping Sébastien's tightly, how their fingers were laced together. How had she missed this man in her friend's life? Had she been so involved with her dreams and problems that she had been blinded to everything else? Despite the intimacy, Delphine walked between them duly, as though in a trance. Lyric wondered if even the possibility of a future with Sébastien would make friend smile again

When they reached the shack, Sébastien had to leave them. He released Delphine's hand reluctantly and stepped back. Turning his eyes to Lyric's in a way that seemed to plead, _take care of her._

 _I will, I promise_ , she tried to communicate back. He gave her a curt nod before turning on his heel to head back for the Main House. Lyric led Delphine up the stairs and opened the door to discover Constable Montcalm standing inside. He was surrounded by a handful of the girls who shared the room with them, all of them chattering at once.

"'Dere she is!" Eulalie's voice piped up loudly enough to be heard over the din. She pointed an accusing finger in their direction. "We been turnin' da whole plantation upside down searchin' fer you!"

Her tone was lethal and aimed entirely in Delphine's direction. Delphine was so startled by the angry tone that her eyes went wide and confused in her pretty face. Eulalie stalked her way around the Constable, stomping over to point that angry finger at her.

"What you up to, disappearing like dat?" She demanded. "Out doin' her bidding, I'd wager! When you gonta realize you don't gotta wait on her no more?"

Eulalie shot a glare at Lyric around Delphine's shoulder before turning her indignant face back to her target.

"You tink no one got anyting better ta do den to be chasin' after you?"

"Good God, Eulalie!" Lyric bit out in a sudden fit of temper. "Her cousin just died! Get your finger out of her face before I break it off!"

Eulalie sputtered in indignation, her mouth working like a gaping fish. She fixed Lyric with hostile eyes.

"You don't getta lord over us no more, you ain't no better dan any other girl here!" She shouted hotly.

"When did I _ever_ lord over you, Eulalie? When was I ever unkind to you?" Lyric demanded angrily. "You've been nothing but hostile to me since I arrived!"

Eulalie opened her mouth to let loose another stinging diatribe and god only knows how the situations would have escalated if Constable Montcalm hadn't chosen that moment to step in.

" _Soit Silencieux!_ " He barked loudly.

Eulalie jumped and turned to gape at him with wide eyes, anything she had been about to say dying in her throat. Lyric also said nothing, looking down at the floor instead. She was ashamed and embarrassed that she had let her temper get the better of her like that. She simply couldn't stand by while Eulalie treated her friend so harshly, especially under the grim circumstances.

"Now," The man continued in a level tone, addressing the now silent room. "If everyone is finished bellyaching, I need to speak with Miss…?

"Delphine." Her friend supplied quietly.

"Delphine." The Constable repeated tersely. "The rest of you may return to your duties."

The other girls, who had stood by in shock while Eulalie dressed down Delphine, filtered out slowly. Eulalie was the last to go, making a point of knocking her shoulder into Lyric's chest as she went by. The others mumbled quietly amongst themselves once they were outside, casting curious glances back over their shoulders.

"That includes _you_ as well." Constable Montcalm informed Lyric cooly, raising an eyebrow when she didn't immediately comply.

"Could I stay with her, please?" She plead softly. "This whole ordeal has been such a shock to her and she's very upset-"

"You are...?" The man cut her off impatiently.

"Lyric, sir!" She replied dipping into the curtsey she had used her entire life. "Lyric…." she trailed off as she was about to identify herself as the late Master's daughter.

"Just Lyric." She finally mumbled, embarrassed.

"Well, 'Just Lyric', if you have nothing of value to tell me about the deceased then I believe your services are better served elsewhere." The Constable told her simply.

"But-" She started to argue.

"It's all right, Miss Lyric." Delphine quietly cut her off. "I'll be alright. You go check up on Miss Clarina now."

"Are you certain, I can-" She started to argue again.

"I'll be alright." Delphine repeated, gently cutting her off once again.

Lyric fixed Constable Montcalm with a hard, warning stare. Offering him nothing but violence if he hurt even one hair on her friends head. The man returned her gaze steadily. Though Lyric was loath to leave Delphine alone with him, there was nothing in his face that suggested he meant her harm.

Constable Montcalm's eyes, though determined, were not unkind. They rested in a face with mostly smooth features that had obviously been handsome once upon a time. Years and the stress of his job had begun to carve lines into his forehead and at the corners of his grey eyes. There was even some white beginning to appear in his otherwise brown hair.

"I'll be back soon." She said to Delphine though her stare remained on the Constable. Delphine said nothing.

Lyric's heart was heavy as she left the shack. What a horrible ordeal for Delphine to have to endure. She knew the pain of losing the only family one had left. She only hoped she could help Delphine through it in the same way the girl had helped her.

Walking slowly down the steps, she made her way up the path leading to the house and mulled over everything she had learned so far. If she was to believe the old Voodoo woman, and she had little reason not to, there was another person... another her... who was searching for something. Was the blonde girl she had seen in the sliver of glass that person?

Then there was the man, her soldier, whom she had seen in the mirror earlier that morning. Was he Uncas? Did he, like her, have another person residing within him? It was all so so very confusing and she felt like she didn't have any more answers than when she started.

On top of everything else, she _still_ needed to speak with Clarina about what had happened with Bran in the parlor. She needed to know about the look in his eyes when he had touched her and the flash of recognition she had experienced afterward. On the heels of this thought, came another, one that stopped her dead in the path. If _she_ had another self who was fighting for dominance and her _soldier_ did as well, didn't it stand to reason that Bran was experiencing something similar?

The pieces all fit together if she took them as a whole; her lighthouse dream, the girl in the mirror, her soldier, and the knowledge of this other self seeking something. Even that horrible nightmare where _Manman_ had called her by another name. What had it been? All-ese? Elise? She couldn't remember now.

If whatever was happening to her was potentially being shared by at least _two_ other people, the question was what to do about it? Also, how did she explain any of this to her sister? Clarina was going to think she was losing her mind. Still, she had to tell her about Bran. She couldn't let her sister marry someone who might be under the control of someone or _something_ else. She had to tell her about what happened in the parlor even if she didn't tell her about...the rest of it.

Lyric hurried her pace and nearly ran up the back stairs that led into the kitchen. Georgina was standing by the cookfire when she burst in, stoking it with a metal poker.

"Da Constable find you two?" She asked when she caught sight of Lyric.

"More like we found him," She sighed back. "Delphine is speaking with him now."

"Bad business, dis murder!" The old woman commented as she wiped her brow with one hand.

" How's Delphine takin' it?" Georgina queried next, looking worried.

"She's... numb, I think." Lyric answered, struggling to adequately describe her friends mental state. "She sent me away while the Constable questioned her."

"Well, I doubt you coulda helped any. You didn't much know Cosette." Georgina commented and moved by Lyric to wipe down the counter.

It was true enough, she hadn't know Cosette at all. When Delphine had been chosen as her ladies maid, they had been children and Delphine's mother had been recently sold to a plantation one town over. Cosette and Delphine had been all that was left of their immediate family and had banded together ever since. The girl hadn't shared the same sleeping quarters as Lyric and Delphine and she didn't think they had said more than three words to one another in all the time the girl had been alive.

"Sébastien mentioned that Clarina was the one who found her?" Lyric probed, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"Ah, Chil'!" Georgina declared dramatically. "Horatio said she dun came blowin' into the barn this mornin' and didn't even wait fer 'im ta saddle 'er horse! He dun took off after her and that's when they found Cosette. It were Miss Clarina what went fer the Constable."

"I'm sure Lady Harris just loved that." Lyric muttered tartly.

"Lawdy me, she was fit ta be tied!" Georgina continued, "Gwen gonna have herself a time tryin' ta get all dat mud offa the sofa."

"Is Clarina alright?" She asked worriedly. "Sébastien also said the doctor was sent for?"

"Oh, jus some bruised ribs, I tink" Georgina supplied, shaking her head. "Dat horse dun threw her. She probably awake iffin you wanna go up. You can take her Luncheon." The old woman indicated the covered tray sitting on the counter.

Lyric picked it up and gave Georginia a grateful smile. The old woman returned it before busying herself back by the fireplace. Lyric carried the tray up the back stairs, peering out the servant door carefully before making her way to her sister's room. She gave the customary 'are you there knock' and listened until Clarina returned the 'coast is clear' one.

She walked in to find her sister laying up against a mountain of pillows, looking drawn and tired. There was one dark braid draped over her slender shoulder and she smiled wearily as Lyric came in.

"I heard you had quite the morning." Lyric commented as she set the tray down on the vanity.

"You heard right." Clarina replied tiredly. "I'd like nothing more than to sleep for a week."

"What happened?" Lyric asked as she pulled the lip off the tray and arranged the silverware. "Georgina says you were thrown from your horse?"

"I was stupid is what I was." Clarina corrected dryly. "I had an argument with Mama and I just…" She shook her head without finishing.

"Well, I had quite an altercation with her this morning myself." Lyric revealed as she carried the tray to the bed to lay it over her sister's lap.

"I know, why do you think I stormed out of here?" Clarina replied tightly.

"So she told you then?"Lyric asked softly.

"More like she gloated." Clarina corrected, angrily stabbing at a broccoli floret with her fork.

"Well, I don't think I'm about to improve your mood any. I need to speak to you about Bran-" Lyric began slowly.

"Oh!" Clarina interjected, chewing quickly and looking excited.

"He came up with the most brilliant solution to your problem!" She declared when her mouth was no longer full.

"He...what?" Lyric stammered, losing track of what she had been about to say in the face of her sister's excitement.

"He's going to purchase you from Mama!" Clarina revealed excitedly. "I can free you again as soon as he hands me the papers!"

"Bran's going to...I...what.." Again she stammered, unable to get the words out.

"I know! Isn't that the most generous offer you've ever heard?" Clarina gushed happily.

It was! It was incredibly generous and completely at odds with the man she had encountered in the parlor the other night.

"He's going to give me the papers as a wedding gift. Mama won't be able to sell you or send you away now."

The wedding! That's right, they were to be married in less than two days time!

"What did you want to tell me?" Clarina asked then. "I was so excited about his offer that I completely cut you off."

Lyric blinked at her and suddenly didn't know what to say. How in God's name was she supposed to broach the subject now? She couldn't just say:

'Well, Clarina, you can't marry Bran because there _might_ be a crazy person living inside him.'

Nor could she say:

'While we're on the subject, there also might be someone else living inside _me_ and there _might_ even be a union soldier out there somewhere that that person is desperately trying to find.'

It was insane. She couldn't say any of that. While she sat there, blinking at her sister as though she had gone momentarily stupid, Clarina stared back, waiting patiently for her to speak.

"Just that…" Lyric began slowly, scrambling for some way to warn her without having to get into the why's of it all, " I think the war has had a bad impact on his psyche. You need to be careful."

"Oh, Bran would never hurt me." Clarina replied with a smile. "I'm a nurse, after all. Who better to look after him if not me?"

She couldn't argue with that.

"Are you certain about this, Clar?" She rarely pulled out the childhood nickname, only when she truly needed to get her sister's attention.

"No." Clarina replied quietly, laying aside the fork. "But I think it's the only option we currently have."

Lyric pulled her mouth into a line and tried not to frown, she didn't like this at all. What could she do though? Clarina marrying Bran was the only way to fix the dire financial constraints of the plantation _and_ the only way to keep Lyric herself from being sold. Regardless of her suspicions and fears about the man, Lyric could come up with no logical reasons for why her sister shouldn't marry him.

"Honestly, I would think you'd be pleased." Clarina said as she picked her fork up again. "It's your bacon he'd be saving, even more than mine."

"I am, really I am! It's just…"

"What?" Clarina prompted.

"I don't know. A bad feeling."

"Well, bad feeling or not, I'm going to have to marry him." Her sister replied firmly.

Lyric stayed and chatted with her a bit longer but was decidedly distracted. She felt as though she couldn't let this marriage go forward but had no means with which to stop it. When Clarina became sleepy, Lyric left her to take the tray back to the kitchen. There was a fine tremor of anxiety racing throughout her body and begged off to check on Delphine before it interfered with her ability to do her job.

She found the girl napping when she returned to the shack, obviously exhausted from all the crying and heartache. Lyric settled next to her on the pallet and tried to decide what to do next. She obviously couldn't do anything for Clarina at this time. What she did have was the spell Edwige had given her. The question was did she have the courage to use it? Would it answer anything or just create more questions?

She sat there next to Delphine for a long time. Waiting, though for what she had no idea. Was she waiting for her soldier or for the other person inside her to appear? Was she waiting to lose herself, to live, or was she waiting for a resolution that would never come?

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **Well, its been quite a while since I updated this story! That wasn't by choice so much as necessity. My kid was home all day for the summer and anyone whose tried to write with a 5 year old in the house knows that that is nearly impossible. Every time I would sit down to edit, i would hear this little voice asking for a snack, or asking to go out and play, or asking what I was doing. After the 3rd or 4th time of trying to edit, I gave up and decided I would come back to it when school started.**

 **So here we are! We've met the old voodoo woman. I had to take some liberties in this section because its hard to find information on ancient voodoo rituals. I did the best i could with modern practices and my imagination. XD**

 **We also get to see more of Constable Montcalm in this chapter. I tried to remember what Montcalm was like in the movie and I don't remember him being an unkind man despite the fact that he was fighting a war. Most of the ugly shit that happened later was Magua's doing, I think he just turned a blind eye to it. I tried to make him commanding here without being mean about it.**

 **We also got a bit of a confrontation with Eulalie, which has been a long time coming, i think.**

 **The next chapter is going to be a small jump ahead in time (Just 2 days to the wedding) because i literally have nothing for the characters to do in the time between. Lyric will mostly be trying to gather supplies for the spell, Clarina will be in dress fittings, and the boys will be hanging out and taking care of a sick Gray. Jumping the story ahead felt like the easiest way to push forward.** **I usually hate doing time jumps like that but its better than making you guys slog through a bunch of useless dialogue.**

 **Anyway, I'm sorry it was such a long wait between chapters. With any luck, i can get back to updating more regularly now that i have time again. I hope you all enjoy this latest chapter. Usually i would take the time to talk about the song lyrics up top but I honestly have zero to say about it. Its the next song in my playlist, it seemed appropriate...that about it.**

 **Happy reading and I will see you all next time!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 14**

 **(Warning: this chapter contains scenes with adult material and implied rape. if you are sensitive to such things i suggest skipping the last paragraph or so of this chapter)**

* * *

 _Why, bleeding is breathing_

 _You're hiding underneath the smoke in the room_

 _Try, bleeding is believing_

 _I used to- Smoke, Natalie imbrulia_

* * *

Clarina studied a face in the mirror that she no longer recognized. Who was this woman before her, with her hair piled atop her head and magnolia's nestled in among the chestnut curls? She didn't recognized the set of her shoulders, which peeked out of the top of a pale gold gown. Even her hands, which gripped the fabric of the full skirt tightly, were alien to her.

She should have been honing her appearance down to the finest detail, adjusting the shimmering rosettes and ruffles that adorned the upper bodice of her gown. She should have been fussing with her skin, powdering away imperfections whether they be real or perceived. Instead, Clarina felt as though she didn't have the strength to rise from the vanity chair, let alone primp, curl and spray herself down with rose water.

She was terrified, so much so that she was frozen where she sat, despite telling herself over and over that she had little reason to be so. The papers that would free her sister were now in her possession, securely locked in the vanity drawer before her. Even the key to unlock it was hidden on her person, nestled down her corset so that her mother would not find it should she decide to go snooping.

 _You've taken care of everything_ , Clarina reminded herself. _She can hold nothing over your head now._

Indeed, there was no reason in the world that Clarina should not be the picture of a happy bride, save one... she did not love the groom. She felt immense gratitude to him but it was not the same thing. She even respected everything he was doing for her but she did not feel _love_ for him.

Clarina fervently hoped love would blossom in time but she found herself doubting that prospect. The woman staring back at her doubted it as well. Those familiar jade eyes swam with miserable tears as she tried to find the strength to leave her childhood bedroom, descend the stairs and climb into the carriage that was to take her to the church. She tried to find a voice capable of saying 'I do' and found only a lump where it should have been.

"That's the last of it." Lisette declared, invading Clarina's sordid thoughts with her shrill voice. She laid the curling rod aside to study her handiwork with a satisfied smile.

Clearly pleased, Lisette studied her youngest in the oval mirror. Having sent Eulalie away some hours before, she had _insisted_ upon fixing Clarina's hair herself. Of course that was _after_ she proceeded to powder, squeeze and lace until Clarina looked a fashion plate. The end result was a beauty who could barely move or breathe.

 _Maybe I'll faint upon reaching the church_ , she thought dismally, _at least that would postpone this whole debacle for a while longer._

"I do declare that you make a most beautiful bride!" Her mother said in triumph.

"Or the most miserable." Clarina corrected, lowering her eyes to her hands, which had already twisted and wrinkled the perfect lines of her skirt into a jumbled mess. She forced them to relax and smooth the layers out as best she could

"Oh, Pish!" Lisette scoffed, slapping a pair of ivory gloves down on Clarina's shoulder. "It's nerves and nothing more. What reason do you have to be so miserable, hm?"

"Why indeed?" Clarina returned scathingly. "Perhaps the fact that I don't love the groom? Or maybe it's the fact that I'm doing this for everyone other than myself."

Irritably, she snatched the gloves from where her mother had deposited them and laid them out on her lap. She pulled one up her arm, slowly stretching her fingers out to test the fit. She frowned at the way it hugged her hand.

 _The first of many cages,_ she thought woefully.

"Yes, yes, you're such a martyr." The other woman drawled, adopting a condescending tone. Clarina could almost hear her mother's eyes rolling around in her skull. "Being forced to marry the most eligible bachelor in Iberville Parish, however will you live with yourself?"

Clarina didn't have the strength to issue an angry retort. It wouldn't have done her any good anyway. Her mother didn't care about her feelings on the matter, she never had. She certainly wasn't going to regard them with any sympathy now. For good or ill, Clarina was getting married and she was going to have to find a way to be at peace with it.

"Now, I've had Horatio bring about the carriage." Lisette continued, briskly. "Once you are done pouting, we can leave for the church."

"Will it hurt, mama?" Clarina heard herself ask, the question leaving her lips before she could stop it. She raised anxious eyes to her mother's reflection, suddenly scared all over again.

"Will what hurt?" Lisette responded, shooting her daughter a quizzical face.

"Tonight, when we…" her throat lodged and she suddenly couldn't say the words. "When we consummate...consummate the marriage?"

Lisette suddenly looked uncomfortable, shifting from side to side where she stood. Clarina could only stare anxiously back at her, waiting for an answer she might not even receive. Having never considered herself an overly romantic or intimate person or one of those giggling girls who read racey literature, Clarina was completely unprepared for her wedding night. As person who was seldom ill prepared for anything, her lack of knowledge was surprisingly overwhelming.

She had studied human anatomy, of course. As a nurse one needed to be aware of what was where when dealing with the human form. She had a clinical _awareness_ of how sexual relations were supposed to work, but none of that took one's personal feelings into account. Clarina was very anxious about the act that was to come, and not because she believed that Bran would intentionally hurt her so much as she had no idea what to do for _her_ part. She was certain she would embarrass the both of them.

"There will be some...discomfort...at first," Her mother replied vaguely, considering her words very carefully, "but it won't last long. Just relax, Bran will know what to do."

"But shouldn't _I_ know what to expect, what to do?" she asked worriedly.

"Certainly not!" Lisette shot back, her hard eyes flashing. "Young ladies are not supposed to be versed in bedroom matters before their wedding. Take you naivety as a sign that we raised you well. Now, can we _please_ be off to the church before the day is gone?"

"Yes, Mama." Clarina mumbled back dejectedly, realizing she would not get any more information than that from her mother.

She suddenly wished at least one of her older sisters was still in residence, though she had not been close to any of them when they were. Being the last of her mother's five children and the one born later in the woman's life, Clarina's sisters had all been preparing to enter society when she was still playing with dolls. Still, she assumed at least _one_ of them could have given her more to go on than 'let Bran steer you around the rough edges.'

Climbing clumsily to her feet, Clarina tried not to step on the many layers of skirts that swished around her ankles. She followed her mother out the door and tried to ignore the stab of homesickness at the realization that she would never sleep in this particular bedroom again. She and Bran would be moving into her parents old bedroom, the master bedroom. Just another one of many changes she would have to get used to.

Descending the staircase in dismal silence, Clarina felt more like she was making the long walk to the gallows than her wedding. When she rounded the bend in the grand staircase, she discovered that the House Slaves and servants had lined the hallway below, waiting to see her off and whisper their well wishes. Clarina caught Lyric's eye as she reached the end of the hall, noting that her sister appeared as worn and drawn as she herself felt.

Lyric's eyes pled with Clarina to reconsider, to turn back, though she knew that the other woman could not. They held each other's gaze as long as they could but, soon enough the bedecked caravan was passing by, and Clarina passed between the Corinthian columns donning either side of the porch.

Each step pounded through her head like a warning bell. She swallowed back her fear as Horatio opened the carriage door for her, taking a deep breath against the anxiety that rushed through her as she stepped inside, trying to swallow it as the old man closed the door behind her. For the briefest of moments his hand came to rest atop hers and she looked down at it, surprised.

"You gonta do jus fine, Miss Clarina!" Horatio's deep voice told her reassuringly. "You gonta do jus fine."

Clarina would have responded if her mother hadn't been climbing into the other side of the carriage. She would have grasped his withered hand and begged his advice, his opinion, hell...even his permission to run screaming from the carriage. All she could offer him was grateful smile as he patted her hand with his free one. Then he was gone, taking his place at the front of the carriage once again.

She steeled her nerves as the horses began to clomp their way forward, closing her eyes against the dread that she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

* * *

"Are you ready to face the masses?" Bran asked when the carriage jolted to a stop outside Breeze Knoll once again.

Opening her eyes, Clarina cast a genial smile on the man who was now her husband. Sitting across from her, Bran's handsome face was kind, with no sign of the cold and imperious figure that had proposed to her that fateful night. _Perhaps it was merely nerves,_ she thought to herself. If so, he was not nervous now. He was simply Bran, kind, sweet Bran who wanted nothing more than to make her happy.

"Are _you_ ready?" Clarina countered, letting out an amused laugh. "I think my mother ordered enough food to feed half the Parish.

"Oh my father will make sure none of it goes to waste, of that I can assure you." Bran replied with a merry grin at his father's expense.

"Surely, he'll leave something for the household to enjoy?" She returned, her voice dripping with faux shock.

"Maybe a few bones and crumbs if they're lucky." He drawled back dramatically.

Clarina let out a very unlady-like bark of laughter and marveled at the difference in her attitude from when she set out from the plantation that morning to arriving back at it now. She had been a veritable mess upon reaching the church, her fear so pronounced that her mother had been forced to manhandle her from the carriage. Now she had achieved something akin to contentment. What a startling contrast to the woman who had had difficulty walking up the aisle because her legs had trembled like leaves beneath her miles of skirts. She knew that all credit for her transformation had to go to the man sitting before her.

Had Bran not turned a face to hers that was nearly as nervous as her own, she might not have made it through the ceremony at all. As it was, Bran had taken in her pale face and rigid posture, her quaking form in all its finery, and had made the silent decision to set her at ease. Once her mother had finally trundled her way into the nearest set of pews, he had leaned in and whispered:

* * *

" _How insufferable was she morning?"_

 _It was the last question Clarina expected to hear. She let out a nervous giggle, which she immediately attempted to stifle behind a gloved hand. The minister was beginning his sermon and it wouldn't do to be caught snickering at her own wedding._

" _Oh, as insufferable as ever." She whispered back. "She fussed so much with my hair that I'm certain not even a strong wind could muse it."_

" _My father, too, spent the morning fussing." Bran revealed, shooting her a harassed grin. "Though in my case it was to lecture me. 'Be sure to stand up straight, Boy, I didn't raise you to slouch' and 'don't mumble when it comes time to say your vows!' " Bran's quiet impression of his father was so accurate that Clarina, once again, had to stifle a laugh._

" _You would think it was them getting married instead of us." He continued amusedly._

" _Perhaps they should!" Clarina replied, trying not to lose her composure at the picture that union created in her mind._

" _Good lord, it would be a disaster!" Bran returned, straightening and clearing his throat when the minister cast a withering glare at the pair of them. Clarina straightened, as well, trying to appear as though she were present and paying attention._

 _Bran reached out to silently take a hold of her hand and she grasped it firmly, holding on for dear life._

* * *

"We'll be happy, won't we?" Clarina asked, coming out of her small reverie. She reached out to grasp his hand with her own once again. "Promise me we will?"

Bran's face clouded for a moment but then softened as he took in her hopeful expression. He shook off whatever dark thoughts he might have been thinking and gave her hand a gentle squeeze where it rested on top of his. His face was so full of love that Clarina almost convinced herself that she _could_ love him in return.

"We will!" He promised, giving her his most brilliant smile. "I know it!"

"Alright then." Clarina breathed out, nodding. "Do you have the coins?"

"Right here." Bran replied, holding up the pouch of money meant specifically for the slaves. It was customary, after all, for the newlyweds to bestow wealth upon their new household.

"Then, Mr. Thibodeaux, I believe we should go in." She said, smiling warmly.

"After you, _Mrs._ Thibodeaux." He countered, gesturing toward the carriage door.

She inhaled audibly at the moniker, thinking she would never get used to being called that, then stepped out of the carriage to cheers from the gathered slaves. When Bran came out behind her, they reached into the pouch together and tossed coins out as though they were confetti. The slaves laughed and dived for the money and, once the pouch was empty, they passed between them on their way to large front door. Her mother waited for them at the end of the throng, having arrived home moments before in Henri's much larger carriage.

"Welcome home, _daughter._ " She greeted, emphasizing the word as though to put the newly married woman back in her place. Clarina knew it was only an empty gesture. Come nightfall, when the household put the couple to bed, Lisette would step down as Mistress of Breeze Knoll and Clarina would take her place. It was only one last bid for the control she was about to lose.

"Thank you, mother." She replied evenly. They held each others gaze in a silent battle of wills that Lisette ultimately lost. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and stepped quickly out of their way. Clarina straightened her spine as she and Bran ascended the stairs to prepare for a whole new future.

* * *

"How many dances are we expected to participate in again?" Bran asked breathlessly as they lined up for yet one more.

Clarina grinned at him as she spun in her full skirt. She had lost count sometime after the third or fourth waltz. There had been their first dance as a married couple, followed by her dance with his father, then his with her mother. There had been a dance that comprised only of her ladies in waiting and herself and finally one for the younger children.

Somewhere in all the dancing, the wedding meal had been served. There had been no end to the veritable parade of ham and turkey, biscuits and jams and jellies. If Clarina hadn't been so firmly laced into her corset she might have been able to enjoy it more. Bran's father had certainly outdone himself, putting away more than his fair share of food. Even now she could see him piling his plate high with a third or fourth helping of meat.

"Oh, however many it takes for our feet fall off." She returned, merrily.

Bran let out a laugh as they stomped and danced and twirled and spun, the room awash with colors and laughter. Perhaps it was the champagne but Clarina was deliciously giddy, the wedding and reception far more pleasant than she had anticipated. Their little used ballroom was full to the brim with flowers, making the open space smell divine. Her mother had spared no expense having them hung from anything that was solidly fixed to the floor.

She wished once again that at least one of her four sisters had been able to attend, if for no other reason than to see the house restored to its former glory. It was not to be however, as they were flung far and wide across the state of Louisiana. They rarely made it home for Christmas let alone something like this. Most had been married off when Clarina was still a child and her next oldest sister, Maddie, lived the closest. She occupied a prominent home in the French Quarter of New Orleans but had been unable to attend due to advanced pregnancy. She _did_ catch sight of Lyric several times over the course of the day, though, carrying trays of food in an out. She had been unable to speak to the girl and felt no small amount of guilt that her sister was here as a servant and not as the guest she should have been.

After the dance, it was time to cut the Wedding cakes. In total, there were three that had been prepared for the reception. Clarina's cake was cut first, a sponge so light and fluffy she was amazed it hadn't floated off its tray and out the door. Bran's cake followed, a dark pound cake so full of nuts and berries Clarina wondered if it was edible. Then there was the final cake, the one meant for the vast majority of the guests; a round orange cake covered in a syrupy glaze.

Once everything had been distributed among the guests there was even more dancing before finally, _finally_ , it was time to see the married couple off to bed. Had the party really lasted throughout the day? Had so much time passed that it was now twilight and the candles were burning low in their sconces?

The guests giggled as she and Bran left through the door leading out to the grand foyer. A few of Bran's unit mates were giving him knowing smiles, whispering raunchy words of advice to him as they slapped him on the back. When they finally reached the end of the procession, Lisette waited for them at the foot of the stairs. In her hand she held the household keys that were now to be turned over to Clarina.

She stared at her daughter with a mix of pride and sourness at losing her coveted place in the household. Though Lisette knew that this was the way of things, the flipside to the marriage coin, she didn't like it. Once upon a time, she too had stood here and taken the keys from Clarina's grandmother. Though Lisette knew this day would come, it didn't mean she was prepared for it. She held the ring of keys out to Clarina stiffly, her blue eyes hard and watery.

"Good night, _daughter._ " She said flatly, using that same 'put Clarina in her place' tone she had used all her life. Even in that moment she had to try to hold on to some vestige of that hard earned control.

Clarina took a hold of the offered keys, her fingers gentle, trying to appear serene and unruffled.

"Good night, mama." was her dignified reply.

* * *

"I think I might have danced my feet numb." Clarina groaned, rubbing at her sore heels with one hand as she settled wearily on the side of their new marriage bed.

As was customary, Lisette had vacated the master bedroom earlier in the day so that Clarina and Bran could now take up residence. The bed, which thankfully was _not_ the same one Lisette had shared with Clarina's father, had been constructed locally and was a four poster made of dark mahogany.

 _A new bed in a new room in an otherwise familiar house,_ she mused to herself.

Clarina had only been in this room a handful of times as a child and it felt strange that it was to be her bedroom for the foreseeable future. She was once again homesick for her girlhood bedroom with its dark furniture and faded floral rug. She knew all its corners, its nooks and crannies. This space was alien and discomforting to her.

"Hmmmm." Bran grunted by way of reply from his place by the large gilt mirror.

The mirrors were another aspect she would have to grow accustomed to, they lined nearly every available space in the room. Bran had been studying himself for the last few minutes in the one by the east window, his nose nearly pressed against the glass. Clarina hadn't the faintest idea what he was looking for. In the bustle and excitement of the wedding, she had almost forgotten about this particular habit of his.

"You were right about your father and the food." She continued, partially to draw his attention but also to fill the silence. It was staggeringly quite after all the music and chatter from the guests. "I'll be amazed if he can get out of bed in the morning after consuming all that ham!"

"Yes," Bran replied distractedly. "That man could eat his weight in gold if he needed to."

There was a brief stretch of pronounced silence again, punctuated only by the popping of the wood in the fireplace. It was filling the room with a pleasing cedar odor that mingled with the smell of the burning tapers. Clarina stared at Bran's back while he stared at himself and wondered how this whole coupling thing was supposed to start if he couldn't pull himself away long enough to talk to her.

"I'm not sure how we do this." She revealed quietly, casting her eyes down at hands that had begun to fiddle idly with her dressing gown.

She felt more than she heard him turn around, his feet producing a gentle padding sound on the hardwood floor. She took in his bare feet as he came to stand before her, his fingers tilting her chin up so he could stare intently down into her eyes.

"Would it diminish your respect for me if I told you i've not done this before either?" he asked her quietly.

"Truly?" Clarina replied, surprised.

It was not often that one met a man who was unfamiliar with business of the bedroom, let alone one who was willing to admit it. She was no fool, she knew that most young men were dragged to the brothels by their friends and older brothers once they reached a certain age. She had simply assumed that Bran would be no different.

"Yes, I uh...did not much join the boys when they visited the districts and such." He continued, as though reading her thoughts. He looked uncomfortably away and Clarina knew there had to more to this story though, clearly, he did not wish to get into it at this juncture.

"Well, I admit that that gives me some relief," she told him with a faint smile. "I was a afraid I would be something of a disappoint to you."

"You could never disappoint me." He responded warmly, his eyes tender when they turned back to hers. Clarina felt herself flush from head to foot as Bran settled down next to her on the bed. She smiled over at him faintly but cast her eyes demurely down at her feet when she became suddenly self conscious.

Again, she felt his fingers, but on her cheek this time. Gently, he turned her face back to his.

"I will never hurt you." He murmured, his thumb rubbing gently over her lower lip. "Not intentionally anyway."

"Do you promise?" She whispered back.

He didn't reply but leaned in and capture her lips instead. It was a gentle kiss but one that promised more the longer it lingered. She took in a sharp breath through her nose as Bran pushed her gently back onto the clean sheets, praying to god that some kind of instinct would take over and save her from humiliation. Thankfully, he did little more than kiss her at first, working his lips against hers until she relaxed enough for him to gently probe at her lips with his tongue. Clarina was puzzled by this but allowed him to explore her mouth, even twisting her tongue with his in a strange sort of dance. It wasn't unpleasant in the least and, after a few moments, she caught on to the give and take of the act.

What startled her was not the kiss so much as when she felt him tugging up the hem of her night dress, pushing it up her body until her lower half was exposed. Then his hand slid slowly between her thighs, parting them a bit. Clarina gasped against his mouth, her eyes popping open in alarm. She had barely touched herself down their save for cleanliness so it was a shock to suddenly feel his fingers exploring her naked flesh.

"It's alright, my darling," he murmured, his eyes asking her to trust him "This should be quite pleasant if you allow yourself to enjoy it."

"I thought you had never done this before?" She asked, then gasped and let out a moan when he flexed his fingers against her in a pleasing way.

"I said I had never _completed_ the act, not that I had no experience at all." He corrected her, amused.

Using his index finger, he began to massage the bundle of nerves near the top of her maidenhood. His thumb and middle finger parted the folds to give him better access to her. Despite the strangeness of it all, Clarina did not find ministrations unpleasant. In fact, she felt her breathing beginning to increase and her legs parting of their own accord.

"That's it, darling, enjoy it." he murmured soothingly in her ear.

There was a pressure building between her legs, she became both hot and cold at the same time. Just when she felt as though the sensation could not possibly get any better, something slid suddenly inside her. It was not a painful sensation but it was a filling one. Clarina gasped again, arching against the sheets as the fullness, which she soon ascertained to be at least two of his fingers, began to move.

"What..what's happening?" She moaned, her fingers grasping at the bed sheets and balling them between her fists. Her legs parted ever wider, inviting more of that rhythmic fullness. She knew in the part of her brain that was rational that this behavior was wanton and unbecoming but it felt oh so very good. She gloried in the sensation of his fingers pumping in and out of her. It was strange and alien and delicious all at the same time and she wanted more without actually knowing what it was she sought. When she let out a cry, Bran shifted, removing his hand to crawl bodily on top of her. She felt something hard bump against her inner thigh.

"This may hurt a bit," He warned, reaching between them to grasp his member and position it against her opening. "If you need a moment, you must tell me."

Clarina nodded her head, lost and dazed amidst all the new sensations. In all her time on this earth, all the things she had experienced, this was by far the strangest and most intense. Bran took a deep breath before thrusting himself fully inside her. Had he not worked her so thoroughly beforehand, there might have been more of the pain and discomfort her mother had mentioned. Though she let out a cry and tears came to her eyes, that wanton part of her that he had awakened crowed, begging for more.

True to his word, Bran paused and allowed her to adjust to the sudden invasive fullness. After a few seconds she gave him a nod and he began to move, thrusting himself into her in a rhythmic sort of fashion. This was an altogether different sensation than she had had with his fingers and she was unsure what to do other than wrap her legs around his waist.

Clarina studied Bran's face as he moved above her, trying to find some clue as to how she was supposed to participate in this new encounter. The pleasing pressure that had been building in her loins before was not building in quite the same way now, though by the looks of his face, this was not true for Bran. His breathing was increasing with every thrust, he looked as though he were racing towards some kind of ecstasy or elation. Clarina only felt movement and residual soreness as he moved faster and faster above her. What was supposed to be happening now, she wondered? Where had the wonderful cresting sensation from before gone? Was she doing something wrong that she wasn't experiencing whatever it was he was experiencing?

Bran suddenly gave a great groan, jerking, and making the oddest face she had ever seen. He held himself above her for a time, eyes shut, face slack, before letting out a great sigh and slumping on to his elbows. It was another couple of seconds before he opened his eyes to look at her. There was something...different about him now. Nothing specific that she could lay a finger on but his face had shifted in some inexplicable way. He had gone from looking ardent and tender to something hard, almost...predatory.

"Bran?" She queried, puzzled.

Bran said nothing, merely continued staring at her as though just realizing she was there. He lowered his eyes, staring down the length of her body, which was still mostly covered by her dressing gown. The most he might be able to discern was where their bodies were still joined and her legs where they were wrapped around his waist.

"Pathetic." He spat, sounding disgusted.

"What?" she gasped, stunned.

She knew that this first intimate encounter might not have been as passion driven as he might have wanted, that she had done little to touch him in the way that he had touched her, but a great deal of that was because she was laboring under new, overwhelming sensations. She found it unwarranted and unkind to label this first encounter so harshly.

"Leave it to The Boy," Bran muttered as he hauled his white wedding shirt over his head, "to make the entire process as dull as possible."

Clarina frowned, sliding out from underneath him and backing up until her back was pressed against the headboard. Who was 'The Boy'? Why was he talking to himself like this? She was baffled by this change in attitude and more than a little hurt. He was taking something that should have been wonderful and ruining it with thoughtless words. Bran continued to ignore her, muttering to himself as though she wasn't present. She watched him ball up the shirt and tossing it carelessly across the room. Once he was completely naked, he turned hard, heat filled eyes to her while that male part of him stood at sudden, rigid attention between his legs.

"Disrobe." He ordered in a low voice.

Clarina didn't move. She sensed danger but couldn't account for what it meant. What had happened to the patient, kind man who had touched her so gently? There was now a stranger staring back at her from that bearded, handsome face. A stranger who had no love or adoration shining in his blue eyes, only malevolent, dark intent.

"I said," his voice commanded, turning dark and foreboding, "disrobe!"

When she didn't move to do his bidding, one of his hands shot out and grabbed her roughly by the front of her dressing gown. He hauled her over to him, ripping the bodice of her night dress from chest to navel. Clarina screamed in a combination of fear and anger, slapping him as hard as she could, right across the face.

"Don't _ever_ touch me like that again!" She yelled, holding the tattered remains of her dressing gown to her chest and glaring at him.

Bran appeared, for lack of a better word, stunned. Clarina watched one hand come up to tentatively touch the spot where her palm had struck him. She glared at him with a mix of fear and defiance, warning him off with a bravado she did not feel.

"That's how it's going to be, is it?" He said, an evil grin spreading slowly over his handsome features.

Faster than she thought possible, Bran's fist shot out and struck her in the side of the head. She cried out, stunned, as stars exploded in her vision. Before she could do anything more than gasp, he had flipped her onto her stomach and was hauling the dressing gown roughly up her backside. She screamed, thrashing from side to side as she felt her legs being shoved apart by one of his knees. Then his hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head painfully upwards.

"Rough it is to be then!" He promised harshly in her ear.

* * *

 **Authors note:**

 **Well, that was uncomfortable. Sorry again to anyone who might have been triggered by that end bit. This chapter was...really really weird for me to write. I had one idea of how I thought the wedding night was going to go and then it changed as soon as I started writing it. I mean, I always _knew_ it was going to be a bit cringe inducing and I don't like writing rape scenes as a general rule (Does anyone really?). I just knew it had to be there and I was going to have to figure out some way to make it work.**

 **One thing that I didn't think about until I wrote this was the fact that Magua can't take over when Bran is content or happy. During the wedding he was both so Magua couldn't have come out even if he wanted to. It took him having to wait until Bran was mid-coitus to be able to have any form of control at all. (I'll get more into that next chapter as it will be a shorter Magua one).**

 **I had intended for Magua to take over while Bran was looking in the mirror and get the rape out of the way there (with as little detail as humanly possible I might add) but the longer the scene went on, there was no Magua. Then I thought maybe he would pop up halfway through the sexytimes bit but again, no Magua.**

 **What it did serve to do, I guess, (and again was not something I intended to do during the planning process) was allow Clarina to discover that sexual part of herself. Would I have preferred that to happen later and with someone else *cough cough Gray*, yes! But the characters don't always do what you want them to do. I wrote the sex bit and thought "I'd bet money I delete this during my next edit." Well, guess what? It didn't get deleted in my second edit, or my third, or my forth and I had to make peace with the fact i wasn't going to get out of this chapter without a Bran/Clarina sex scene. XD**

 **Though I have to say that Bran really shined as a human being to me in this chapter. He's just so incredibly...decent. Maybe on some level I just wanted to give them both something pleasant before their world goes to shit. There's also the fact that it's Clarina's first sexual encounter and I felt bad making that encounter a rape. It had all the strangeness and awkwardness of any first time experience but I didn't want her to go from this to Gray and have the entire thing go belly up. My hope is that when I finally do get further along, her scenes with Grey will make sense and flow naturally.**

 **Wow, I am babbling and trying to explain myself a lot here...sorry about that guys. I'll just move on to the song section before I manage to talk myself into a corner. XD**

 **So, I chose Smoke by Natalie Imbrulia for this chapter. If anyone has ever heard that song the reason why its here should be apparent. I had this song on an ancient playlist for an original story from YEARS ago. I hadn't listened to it again for quite sometime (couldn't really because it reminded me of my late friend too much) and discovered it fit quite well into this chapter.**

 **If you want to know what i imagined playing during the wedding scene go listen to Siasma from Lord of the Dance album. I could literally have choreographed the entire wedding to that piece of music. It definitely sounds more Scottish claddaugh than civil war wedding but I think it still works well enough XD**

 **Ok, I think I have probably talked about as much as I'm going to here. Like I said, the next chapter is a Magua one. I'm not sure how long it will be. I would have liked to have gone straight back into Lyric and Caleb to propel the story forward but I think i'll probably need the Magua chapter to really get that ball rolling.**

 **Thanks again for reading and reviewing and I will see you all next time!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 15**

* * *

 _This one night,_

 _This one night,_

 _every night and all,_

 _Fire and sleet and candlelight,_

 _Christ receive thy soul-A Lyke Wake dirge, Matt Berninger_

* * *

Magua's frame shook with exertion as he stared down the length of Clarina Harris' body, his breathing ragged and heavy in his ears and his legs tight and twitchy where they rested between hers. What a novelty, to experience a woman he had no intention of killing afterwards. There was a heady sort of euphoria in it, he supposed, though it was one he knew would not last. Already that familiar itch was beginning, that compulsion to find another, more satisfying release.

His prize lay amongst the opulent sheets, laid out like an offering, her slender curves highlighted by the jumping flames in the hearth. She was lovely in her repose, despite the dark bruise spreading over her slender cheekbone. He had, perhaps, been too overzealous in his attempts to cowl her.

She was unconscious, having been felled by a blow to the head during their second..or was it the third..round of copulating? She had indeed been every bit the conquest he had hoped for, heating his blood in a way that no other had managed thus far.

Gentle lovemaking was not in his nature, he would leave that to The Boy and his painted peacock friends. No, a fight before the rut was what Magua gloried in and Clarina Harris had fought like a wildcat. Kicking, screaming, even biting when he had been foolish enough to put his arm too near her face. Even now, he could discern small teeth marks gracing the flesh of The Boy's forearm. Pain and lust were so intermingled with Magua that her feeble attack had done little to dissuade him from his goal.

He studied the rise and fall of her perfect breasts in the low light, how the shadows played off the pale mounds before turning away to study the unfamiliar room instead. Magua marveled that _this_ was to be his new haven. He was not unaccustomed to the decadent lifestyle The Boy enjoyed but this particular space felt somehow more so.

Much to his displeasure he discovered trace elements of the Fat Mother in nearly every corner. Every available wall seemed to house a gilt mirror or some reflective type of surface. The woman's vanity was truly astonishing. Though she had vacated this particular living space, she had been sure to leave traces of her touch all over it.

It hardly mattered, he decided, for The Fat Mother would be taken care of before the night was over. Her ridiculous mirrors would be tossed out along with her and he would make it his personal mission to remove all traces of her from the property.

Climbing out of the overly soft bed, Magua padded over to stand before one of those many mirrors. His host's visage starred back at him serenely. An idiot The Boy might be but he _did_ have a fit and trim physique which would suit Magua's purposes nicely.

Having allowed The Boy to play out the events of the wedding and reception, he found he had no further use for him in its aftermath. It had been no great loss to Magua, who had no interest in the frivolous dancing and overly fatty food, to allow the boy his moment. He had even have been gracious enough to give him the first rut with the dark haired Clarina, as boring and clinical as it had been. Magua had little intention of letting him out for much else.

It had been surprisingly difficult to influence him earlier in the day, when he had been elated and enjoying himself so thoroughly. He had feared, briefly, that The Boy's newfound serenity would make it impossible for him to influence him in the future. Once he was immersed in his ministrations however, Magua had stepped into his skin with little more effort than one might expend stepping into a body of water. He had then proceeded to bury The Boy so deeply within his own consciousness that filling the empty space and making it his own had been simple. He was quite certain that Clarina had been unaware of the change until that last moment.

The memory of her Jade eyes flashing with defiance made The Boys member twitch and stand upright. Magua looked down at it in a rather clinical way and considered taking her a fourth time. Ultimately however, he decided it was better to practice some self restraint. There would be more than enough time for all that _after_ he took care of her bitch of a mother.

Striding over to where The Boy had deposited his trousers, Magua pulled them up his pale legs awkwardly. He did not remember the clothing of his previous life but he was certain they had never been as complicated as these modern contraptions. The pants alone were all straps and buckles, would it not have been more practical to lace them rather than fight with these infernal belts? Once he had them sorted, he made his way to the dresser where The Boy had laid aside his pistol and knife.

Decisions, decisions! Did he wish to go the simple route and strangle the Fat Mother or the messier one of disemboweling her? He allowed himself a few seconds with that particular fantasy before deciding against it. If he went too far there would be no hiding the manner in which she died and he did not wish to complicate matters with a visit from the Constable.

He picked up the knife and studied it, turning it this way and that to watch the light reflect off the blade. He smiled as though it were an old friend before tucking it into the holster at his belt. Though he had no intention of using the blade, its weight was comforting at his side, reminding him as always of his purpose. Making his way silently to the bedroom door, he spared a glance over his shoulder at Clarina who still lay slumbering in the large bed.

"I do not envy you the discomfort you will feel upon waking," he said to her unconscious form, "but rest assured that your shrew of a mother will soon be a problem of the past...for both of us."

He closed the door behind him and made his way down the hall. It was deserted of all staff as he padded silently across the opulent rug that stretched the length of the upper hallway.

He knew, instinctively, which direction to go. The Fat Mother had a particular odor that grew stronger the closer he drew to her bedroom. It was the smell of musty things growing in the folds of overly fat flesh. A pungent odor that only one used to the art of the hunt would be able to detect. He could have found her regardless of where she dwelled and that smell was, even now, drawing him down the hallway like a beckoning rotten finger.

Magua drew to a stop before her closed door, gently wiggling the knob lest she was still awake or had locked it. Thankfully for him, she had not. He slipped into her room and closed the door soundlessly behind him.

He wrinkled his nose against her odor, made stronger by the stuffy enclosed space. The Fat Mother was in the bed across the room, snuggled comfortably against a pile of white pillows. Her mouth open and snoring softly in the darkness. Her fire had gone cold some hours before and would not be stoked again until the maids awoke near dawn, giving him more than enough time to enjoy himself. Magua walked to the side of her bed and took up one of those soft pillows in his hands though he did not immediately move to put it over her slumbering face.

Instead, he waited until she sensed his presence, opening those pale blue eyes to blink up at him, first in utter shock and then in obvious concern.

"Bran, has something happened?" She squawked, pulling the sheets up as though to cover herself. It was insulting that she thought she had any assets he might want to see.

"I have come to tell you a story." He replied simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to come to her room for.

"A story, I don't under-" She began but he cut her off.

"It is the tale of a warrior who was born into the wrong time and place, a warrior who was forced to reside in the body of a weak and pathetic _boy_." he climbed into the bed as he spoke and crawled on top of her. She let out a little scandalized yelp as his weight settled firmly over her corpulent belly.

"The warrior had to make peace with coming forth only when The Boy was indisposed." Magua explained to her flustered and baffled face. "He had to become accustomed to residing in the shadows, whispering, until that one perfect moment when The Boy's let his guard down."

"Bran, I don't know what has gotten into you but you need to leave this room immediately!" The Fat Mother demanded in her most forceful tone. It was amusing that she thought she had any power over him.

"If you do not, I will scream!" She declared threateningly. He leaned in until his face was right in front of hers.

"I'm counting on it!" He whispered darkly. Then he pressed the pillow firmly over her fat face.

"The warrior continued in this manner until he met another like himself, a Moon Haired girl who was also trapped in another's body." Magua continued as the Fat Mother squirmed beneath him, her cries muffled by the thick fabric. "He knew, when he looked into her eyes, that his life would never be the same again."

He removed the pillow from the woman's face long enough to give her time to sputter and cough. Before she could get enough air to release the scream she had threatened, he pushed the pillow onto her face again.

"No sooner had the Warrior found this Moon Haired girl when an evil woman tried to part them. She planned to sell the girl for money, to send her away where the warrior could never hope to find her." He continued calmly. The Fat Mothers fingernails raked down his arms, her feeble fists punching blindly.

Again, he pulled the pillow off her face, again watched her gasp, fighting for what little air she could manage. Then he leaned in close for a second time to ensure she saw the truth of his words shining in his eyes. He leaned close enough to see the fear and burst capillaries the pillow had brought to hers.

"That Warrior is me." he revealed darkly.

Then he pressed the pillow to her face and held it there. He did not let up when her struggling became sluggish, he did not let up when her body gave a sudden, savage jerk. He did not let up until her body ceased it's twitching and lay still as the grave beneath him. Then finally, finally, he removed the pillow from her face.

The Fat Mother's eyes stared blindly up at the ceiling, her mouth hanging open in that scream that she had never quite managed to let loose. Magua studied his handiwork in the darkness with a sense of vengeance fulfilled rushing through him. With her death, he would well and truly rule this new domicile. He had had conquered not only The Boy and the willful Clarina, but would have the Moon Hair as well. There was only one last thing to do to bring that sense of accomplishment full circle.

He found his hand going for the knife at his belt, and though he had told himself he was not going to take the grisly route whilst dispatching her, he felt his hand removing the blade anyway.

 _You will have to show the proper amount of shock when her body is discovered_ , he told himself gleefully. _You will have to feign dismay that the perpetrator infiltrated the house on your wedding night_.

Magua ran through the story he would tell whilst positioning the blade above The Fat Mother's now still chest.

 _You will have to show the proper amount of disgust that her life has come to an end in such a grisly manner while you slept next to your wife down the hall_.

Perhaps he would allow The Boy out one final time just to handle _those_ particular details.

Magua felt his lips pull back in a snarl as he plunged the blade downward, glorying in the satisfying _thunking_ sound it made as he buried it deeply in The Fat Mother's chest. He smiled serenely as he began to viciously carve out her heart.

* * *

 **Authors note:**

 **Daaaaaaaamn Magua, way to go into Overkill mode there! I mean, none of us like Lissette but ...Jesus Christ, Dude!**

 **Ahem! Hi everybody! sooooooo, much like the last chapter this one got pretty uncomfortable to write. Strangely enough, it actually ended up being a bit MORE violent than i originally intended *Glares at Magua where he sits in the corner, playing Harvest Moon on my DSL (don't ask)*. I swear he was JUST supposed to do the pillow smothering thing but he decided to go off script on me! Oh well, I guess he wouldn't be the Magua i've set him up to be if he didn't DISOBEY ME AT EVERY TURN! *More glaring, Magua flips me the bird***

 **Anyway, the bit where he's describing how Lissette smells is probably something I should talk about. When I was pregnant, my sense of smell went through the roof. I couldn't stand to be around people because the smell of their perfume, clothing detergent, even my own freaking shampoo would make me sick as a dog. I was basically able to smell what Magua described. Let me tell you, IT AIN'T PLEASANT! i usually avoid describing things like body odor in my stories because most of them are love stories and no one really wants to know how bad people smelled in the age before deodorant buuuuuuuuuut...I decided to do it here. So I apologize for anyone who might have thrown up in their mouths while reading it cause i DEFINITELY threw up in mine a little while writing it. XD**

 **It's been over a month since my last update. I had hoped to have this up a little sooner but I got side tracked editing Mine up in the hopes of self publishing it eventually. Editing might not sound like it should be a difficult task (considering the story is already written) but when you have to dig through 39 chapters of text just to change the names it gets a bit daunting. Also, the original story ate up 3 years of my life so god only knows how long this edit is going to take XD**

 **It also needs a new title and i am coming up completely dry in that department. Any ideas anyone? Please, save me from myself! lol**

 **Ok, Moving on to the music. This chapter has a score piece as well as a song (Which might be the pattern for another couple of chapters). The score piece is Boadicea by Enya, which I imagine playing while Magua is thinking about shit in the bedroom with Clarina. I have loved this piece of music since high school, its just so damn haunting. I picture it following Magua until the point where he goes into Lissette's bedroom wherein it would switch to the second song. That is A Lyke Wake Dirge by Matt Berninger.**

 **If you've never heard this (or any) version of A Lyke Wake Dirge before, I recommend giving it a listen. The song for this chapter was originally going to be Catoosa County by Shawn Mullins but I ended up changing it at the last minute. (Thanks to BrynnaRaven for the suggestion, btw! Catoosa County made the list but it's going to get its place in a chapter further down the road.) It's so dark and dismal and I can totally see it playing during his little speech to Lissette.**

 **Ok, well, I seem to have come to the end of what I wanted to talk about for this chapter. Next chapter returns us to Lyric wherein she might finally do that damn spell! You would think she doesn't actually WANT to see Caleb with all the procrastinating she's been doing. I will try my damndest to get that up before Christmas but (like last year) we are Disney bound for the the holidays so I make no promises. :)**

 **As always thank you for your patience and for reading an reviewing and I will see you all next time!**

 **Happy reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 16**

* * *

 _Let the band play out,_

 _As I'm making my way home again._

 _Glorious we transcend._

 _Into a psychedelic Silhouette- Salvation, Gabrielle Aplin_

* * *

Lyric weaved her way back towards the Slave Quarters, feeling waves of weariness seeping from every square inch of her body. She was certain she had not ceased moving from sun up until just a few moments before when Georgina dismissed everyone from the kitchens. She had alternated from one extreme to another, first preparing the house for the wedding and then cleaning up after it. Stating that she was tired would be a gross understatement.

Of course she been banished from the ceremony. Only immediate family were allowed into the inner sanctum of the church and, as far as Lisette was concerned, she was anything but that. The only contribution she could offer was helping to get the household in order. It felt as though she had been involved in every step of the preparations aside from helping Clarina to dress. Lissette had galvanized that happy task for herself, even banishing Eulalie to the kitchens with little more than a brusque 'away with you!'

The only glimpse Lyric had managed of her sister (aside from the reception) was as she departed for the church. As Lisette had given strict instructions that she be kept away from the wedding entirely, Lyric had been forced to take her peek from the shadow of the heavy front door. Her sister had descended the stairs in a beautiful golden gown, with her chestnut curls piled prettily atop her head. She had been equal parts lovely and terrified, shooting Lyric an anxious expression as her mother loaded her into the carriage.

It wouldn't be until the reception that she would see her again, and only as she darted into the ballroom under the pretense of carrying in trays of food. It had been a feat unto itself to avoid Lisette's ever watchful eye but Lyric managed to avoid detection somehow.

She found Clarina much altered from the terrified girl who had departed in the carriage that morning, she returned smiling and confident, as though the wedding ceremony had wiped away any prior reservations. Lyric could not account for this change in her sister but hoped that nothing ever wiped the glow of contentment from her face. There was no time to exchange words with her as Bran led her to the dance floor for waltz after waltz.

It was in one particularly quiet moment, near twilight, as Lyric lingered outside the ballroom watching longingly as the young people waltzed, that she had a chance to truly take in the change in her sister. The girl was resplendent in the glittering candle light, it shined off her gown and against her dark hair. She was a vision in taffeta and tulle. Bran's face shown as well, those handsome features so alight with light and love that it was hard to imagine the incident in the Parlor had ever occurred. Lyric fervently hoped that there would be nothing but calm waters for them going forward. She hoped...but she didn't truly believe it.

Saints, how she ached to join the guests as they spun in the glittering ballroom, changing partners to the beat of the music. She missed very little about the aristocratic life but dancing, dancing and music had been the highlight of her world. They had been the only ways for her to truly express herself. How freeing it could be for a young woman, who could not be seen touching the opposite sex without risking her reputation, to simply let the music wash over her. It was as though all the archaic social rules melted away once the music began. She allowed herself a few moments of self indulgent longing and then retreated.

She remained in the kitchen for the remainder of the evening.

There she helped prepare small plates and set out the cakes when the time came to cut them. The frantic pace didn't let up until the guests began trickling outside a few hours later. Lyric heard the valets bringing around the many carriages, and their voices chatting away in easy Creole. A vast majority of the Wedding guests were drunk and fuzzy headed by then, tripping over their feet as they made their way to the carriages. Lyric could hear them laughing and cavorting as they were, presumably, helped into the seats by the valets. She had been about to collapse under the weight of her own weariness when Georgina spoke the words she had been waiting to hear for hours:

* * *

" _I'd call that well an' done." The older woman declared as the last half empty platter of food was carted through the servant's door. It was sad to see how much of it would likely go to waste when there were so many going hungry in the Slave Quarter. Maybe now that Lisette had been dethroned as Mistress of Breeze Knoll, things would turn around._

" _Oh, Georgina," Lisette's voice echoed from inside the butler's hallway, as if called forth by the mere thought of her. She was so close that there was no chance Lyric could duck into the servants stair before she was seen. She waited, a hard lump in her throat, as Lady Harris pushed her way into the kitchen._

" _I must speak to you about-"_

 _Lisette trailed off as she caught sight of Lyric, whose arms were elbow deep in sudsy water. The two locked eyes from opposite sides of the room. Lisette's became angry and accusing as Lyric froze, like a naughty child with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. She said nothing as the older woman glared, bristling at the mere sight of her._

" _What is the mongrel doing here!" Lisette angrily demanded. "I gave explicit instructions that she was to be kept away."_

" _Beggin' yo pardon missus, but the new massah dun ordered she be in here helpin' clear up." Georgina lied, her face apologetic. This was in no way true, Bran hadn't had to time to issue any orders about herself or anyone else. Lyric was grateful for the housekeepers quick thinking nonetheless._

" _I tried ta tell 'im dat you ordered she be kept in the Quarta' but he wanted all hands on deck fer the reception."_

 _Lyric watched a myriad of emotions pass over Lisette's angry face, the most prevalent of which was resentment. She had pushed the marriage forward solely so her lifestyle could continue unhindered but hadn't accounted for the complete loss of control that came with it. She had no authority to order Lyric away any longer and, for the first time, she knew it._

" _I see." came a reply that was pushed through a set of tightly clenched teeth._

" _Was you needin' somethin', Missus?" Georgina probed, her voice still oh so sweet in the face of Lady Harris' fury. Georgina might be playing the part of the obedient servant but she knew_ _ **exactly**_ _what Lisette Harris was; A nightmare, wrapped in an enigma and dressed up with frills and lace._

" _I wanted to speak to you about Clarina's post-wedding luncheon but we can leave that for the morning. I find myself feeling rather…" Here she paused, narrowing her eyes at Lyric once again, " ill."_

" _Dat'll be jus' fine, Missus." The older woman returned warmly._

 _Lisette gave the other woman a curt nod then turned on her heel and stomped back down the hall. It was only when she was completely out of earshot that Georgina added an 'Ya ol' windbag' to her original statement. Lyric let out a bark of laughter as the old woman shot her a wide grin over her shoulder._

" _I sho' hope Massah Bran know what he in fo'! She ain't gonta give up dat seat o' power graciously." Georgina commented as she picked up a towel and started drying a plate that Lyric handed to her._

" _I suspect it'll be an adjustment for everyone." Lyric returned tiredly._

" _Not fo' you! I hear's you gonta be a free woman again." The old lady said vaguely, a wide smile spreading over her face._

" _Has that gotten around already?" Lyric asked, surprised._

" _Naw, Miss Eulalie jus' nosy is all. She saw the new Massah handing over some papers ta Miss Clarina yesterday and went riflin' through the drawer." Georgina revealed with a wink. Lyric knew she wouldn't have approved of the other girl's snooping but probably didn't chastise her too harshly upon learning what she discovered._

" _I had lost hope of ever being anything again." Lyric mumbled, staring into the soapy water as though it could show her the future._

" _Well, don' you be forgettin' us none when you's a fine lady." Georgina commanded, swatting playfully at her shoulder until she looked over at her and grinned._

" _Oh, so fine!" Lyric said back in a faux haughty voice and splashing some water in the woman's direction. They laughed as they mopped the resulting watermarks from their dresses._

" _Seriously, though, I could never forget you," Lyric reassured Georgina fondly. "You've always been so kind to me, both before and after everything that's happened."_

" _You's a good girl, Miss Lyric." Georgina told her, reaching out to pat her cheek affectionately. "You'll find yer own way, sho' enough."_

* * *

And here she was, still attempting to find it.

Why, when everything was finally taking a turn for the better, did she feel so unsettled? Part of it, she suspected, was the fate of the soldier, whom had _not_ encountered again since that day in the parlor. He had appeared in neither her dreams nor in her waking world and, though she had no idea _who_ he was, she found she missed him.

The other part was the question of her 'other self' and the thing which they sought. As much as she wanted to ignore Old Edwidge's warnings, they lingered at the back of her mind, constantly digging like the fingernail of god.

 _There's always the spell,_ a little voice seemed to prod.

Ah yes, the spell. The one she had been avoiding using for the better part of two days. Despite the fact that she had acquired everything she would need to perform it, she had been putting off actually using it. She didn't know what she was so afraid of, the worst that could happen was that she ended up wasting a stick of incense. She tried to push the spell from her mind as she finally arrived at her desired destination. She climbed the steps leading up to the shack, descending them slowly and quietly to avoid waking anyone up. She needn't have bothered, there were only a few girls slumbering within and they were so exhausted that none of them stirred as she made her way inside.

Quietly, she crept over to the pallet she shared with Delphine, silently undoing the line of buttons at the back of her dress and peeling it down her arms as she went. She folded the garment before laying it over a rickety chair. Next, she pulled a white dressing gown over her head and pulled off her sweaty tignon, it felt wonderful to finally be able to shake out her dark curls.

Only when she accomplished all those things, did she sit on the edge of the pallet. Only then did she reach underneath to pull out the box of supplies she had squirreled away. Then she sat with it in her lap, staring at it, whilst trying to find the courage to do what she had been avoiding all this time.

 _It's now or never,_ _Lyric_ , she told herself firmly. _If you don't do this now, you never will._

Would there be a price to pay for not performing it, she wondered. Would ignoring the entire ordeal give her 'other self' leave to 'burn her way out' as old Edwige had warned? Lyric wasn't sure she was brave enough to find out.

Sighing heavily, she forced herself to stand and arrange the candles on the floor before her. She made certain to follow the Voodoo woman's instructions to the letter as she lit the blue candle specifically with the incense, noting that it took forever for it to burn all the way down. Once it did, she wrote her question on a small slip of paper which read simply:

 _Who does the other 'me' seek?_

Then she folded the paper and dumped the ashes from the incense on top of it. Lastly, she blew out all the candles and took the slip of paper back up in her hands. Taking a deep breath, Lyric held it firmly to her chest, closed her eyes, and whispered:

" _It is an answer that I seek,_

 _With this vision I'll take a peek."_

Lyric fought the urge to tap her foot against the floor as she listened to the soft snoring of the other girls and the creaking of the shack in the gentle breeze. As seconds stretched into minutes, she began to feel more and more foolish. When at least five minutes passed with no discernible change, she slumped and opened her eyes with an annoyed scoff.

Perhaps something else was required to make the spell work, some charm or item she had somehow neglected to acquire? Edwidge hadn't mentioned anything and Lyric had double and triple checked her list while she was gathering supplies. She frowned, racking her brain for anything she might be missing. Was there something that had made the Shining Light of Truth work before, something that might connect her to what she sought now? Other than the lighthouse dream she couldn't recall anything. She thought and thought. What had been a constant theme since this whole debacle began?

As she sat there, trying to find a link, a tune began to niggle at the back of her mind. It was familiar and haunting, almost like a lullaby. Strangely, the voice humming it was masculine and she wondered if it was something her father might have sung to her as a child. When the source of the tune finally came to her it was as though she were struck by a bolt of lightning.

The Song, the Cornish one she couldn't possibly have known yet still managed to sing that morning in the Kitchen. It had also made an appearance in her nightmare, with her her soldier appearing mere hours later. Lyric would bet everything she owned (which admittedly was not much) that that song was the key to unraveling this mystery.

Hope renewed, she shut her eyes once again and held the piece of paper to her chest. She repeated the incantation, and then, after a heartbeat or two, began to sing.

" _Memories like voices that call on the wind, Medhel an Gwyns...Medhel an Gwyns…"_

The change, when it occurred, happened by small degrees. She became dimly aware of the sounds of the Bayou rising up around her; the thum of Gators calling in the swamp and the bugling of frogs in the trees. She could hear the gentle slapping of water against a nearby shore.

" _Whispered and tossed on the tide coming in, Medhel oh Medhel an Gwynes…"_ She continued, her confidence growing.

There was a tangible change in pressure. A thickness filled the air, bringing a dampness that settled on her clothing and skin. She lifted a hand to touch her face, finding it cool in the suddenly humid air. The loamy softness of earth expanded beneath her bare feet and she curled her toes against the sticky roughness of grass as it appeared to blossom beneath her. The smell of vegetation filled her nostrils as she took in a deep breath of night air, followed next by the smoky aroma of burning wood.

The overwhelming desire to open her eyes finally overcame her caution and Lyric gasped to discover herself standing under the moss hung trees of the Bayou. They waved in the breeze like lace curtains, that same gentle wind lifted the tendrils of hair resting against her cheek and the two moved in tangent, their own private little waltz.

Lyric was so enthralled by what had just occurred that she almost missed the ever so quiet rustling of cloth from somewhere behind her. She drew in a sharp breath as a deep, familiar voice filled the night. The voice itself was hesitant, as though not entirely sure of its welcome. She started in a sudden spike of anxiousness.

"Hello." it greeted quietly.

She would have known his voice anywhere. It rubbed up and down her skin like the softest of fabric, a welcoming cadence amongst the cacophony of noise. Though she had come to this place seeking answers, she suddenly found herself hesitant to turn and face them. She knew that if she turned now, she would set something in motion that she would be unable to stop. Did she want to stop it? Was this not what she desperately wanted, even if she didn't know exactly what _it_ was?

Powerless, Lyric spun slowly about. Though frightened, she managed to lift her face to take in what she, and apparently her other _self,_ sought.

She looked into the face of her future.

* * *

 **Authors Note: Hot Damn, this chapter took forever to get right! I thought I had it ready to go back in November and then left it to sit for a month only to discover that the flow was all wonky. Doesn't matter though, I got it up and...THEY FINALLY GET TO MEET, YOU GUYS! Sorta...In a weird, Hoodoo ritual thing. SHHHHHHHH! Don't question it! XD**

 **Looks like Lisette also managed to squeeze in one last scene where she was a raging bitch.. but her shelf life is limited so she might as well get in one last one while she can LOL**

 **With any luck I can get Caleb's chapter up soonish too. I don't want you guys to have to sit with the cliff hanger forever while I try to get my shit together. I did give Caleb's next one a re-read after I got this one under control and it didn't look too bad. I thought I was going to to end up hating my dialogue (I think I wrote a partial version of it last year) but it still worked pretty well. I still need to go back and make sure that i'm happy with what they talk about though. From what I saw it looked ok. *Fingers crossed***

 **Another thing I need to talk about is how my music evolved in this chapter. There was originally an entirely different song that opened this chapter. Sometimes I'll add things that I like in the moment i hear them only to discover that they don't really work for the scene I set up. This was one of those moments.**

 **It was originally going to be Alone by Armin van bureen but the song was waaaaaaay too dance mixey for this chapter. Don't get me wrong, I still love that song but it just didn't feel right as the opener.**

 **Then I was listening to the playlist I put together for my next fic (which barely has a plot yet has a soundtrack somehow, go figure XD) and Salvation by Gabrielle Aplin came on. Then I played it while I wrote and was like 'Yep, this is my song' so that's how THAT one happened. It has one of my favorite lyrics in a song to date: _Just a trick of light, to bring me back around again_. _Those wild eyes, a psychedelic silhouette._**

 **It just sounds like Alice talking about Uncas to me. It was like the song was written for them. So it earned its place here. We'll see if I keep it on next fics playlist going forward. I don't like doubling up on music and I think I may have already done it a few times XD**

 **I also ended up changing my score piece for this chapter. It was originally something called Beyond the Cottage (Which is a remix of one of the score pieces from Legend). That piece is great but much like the Van Burren song, it was just too much. There are definitely places in this story where I use dance mixes but it just didn't quite fit in my scene.**

 **Then I heard a Max Richter variation of Vivaldi's four seasons and was like 'OMG! I HAVE A SCENE FOR THIS!'If you want to try something fun, try to find the Max Richter version of Four seasons and start playing it once Lyric feels the pressure change in the room. I choreographed that entire scene to that piece of music XD**

 **Ok, I think that's about it for things I felt needed an explanation. I still feel bad for the cliffhanger but I wanted to give both perspectives to whats happening so I felt like it was better to end this one where it is. Thanks for sticking with me through the holidays and my semi-absence. I was going to pick this up again in early January but my allergies and asthma had other plans XD**

 **Thanks again for reading and reviewing and i will see you guys next time! Happy reading!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 17**

* * *

 _I am covered in skin,_

 _No one gets to come in,_

 _Pull me out from inside,_

 _I am folded, and unfolded,_

 _And unfolding...I am colorblind-Colorblind, Counting Crows_

* * *

" _Memories like voices that call on the wind,"_ Caleb sang quietly. " _Medhel an Gwyns…Medhel an Gwyns."_

He sang lowly, arbitrarily even, as he stared in a bored reverie into the campfire. It was little more than a small spattering of sound in the otherwise empty swamp. He was _supposed_ to be keeping watch while Gray and Saul slept though there was little to keep watch for save the occasional gator. As though aware he was thinking about it, one of the reptiles splashed somewhere out in the dark water. Caleb had caught sight of a few of them since they built camp but, thus far, they either had been uninterested in or unwilling to approach the fire.

Gray's cold chills had forced their hand in continuing any further in their trek towards town. They had made little to no progress the past two days as Gray was not doing well, not even a little bit. His complexion had gone ashen and waxy and he muttered constantly in his sleep. Sometimes calling for Anna Marie, other times for Caleb. A few times he had even called for his mother. Caleb wished he could do more for him than a piddling campfire in a bug infested hellhole.

He was spending his watch trying to strategize their next move; where they should go and how they should conduct themselves once they got there. They had already stripped off as much that identified them as Union soldiers as possible, stowing the jackets and caps in the one small bag they had. Even with all that, they couldn't hide their yankee accents and Caleb suspected he might have to resign himself to the idea of a confederate prison camp before this was over.

"Anna…" Gray mumbled, twisting from side to side in his bed roll. "Caleb..where's Anna..."

Caleb let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Gray would only get weaker with prolonged exposure to the swamp and it's muggy elements. It appeared that it was already making his injury that much worse. When Saul had checked the wound earlier to change out the bandage, he reported that he didn't think the limb was salvageable. The flesh was turning an angry red, with infection spreading at a worrisome pace. They needed to find a doctor soon or Gray would be in danger of losing more than just a leg.

" _Whispered and tossed on the tide coming in, Medhel oh medhel an gwynes…"_ He continued, distractedly.

He slowly became aware of a female's voice blending in seamlessly with his own. He lifted his head as dulcet tones traveled up and down his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. There was a discernible shift in the air pressure as a warm breeze blew past him, lifting the tendrils of Spanish Moss hanging above his head. They pulled as though pointing at something behind him. He felt the hair stand up on his arms as he turned.

That was when he saw her.

The woman from the clearing stood some feet away, her back to him. She was staring up into the dense foliage of the surrounding Bayou, clothed in little more than a simple white dressing gown. It gave her an ephemeral, ghost-like quality in the low firelight.

"Hello." Caleb greeted hesitantly, speaking quietly so as to disturb the others.

The girl visibly started, taking in a sharp breath at the sound of his voice. When she did finally turn, she did it slowly, as though she were frightened of what she was about to see. She lifted her face to his and he watched those dark eyebrows lift over gloriously golden eyes. Her full lips fell open in a small O of surprise before she swallowed audibly and clasped her hands together between her breasts.

There was a long stretch of silence where neither of them moved nor spoke. She stood where she had appeared, pulling the fabric of that dressing gown in against her chest with long elegant fingers. The night was punctuated with the drone of insects and the gentle snores of his companions.

"Are you real?" He heard himself ask breathlessly.

His voice was awestruck to his own ears. She was so beautiful that he felt as though she couldn't possibly exist. It would not surprise him to discover he had merely fallen asleep while keeping watch and was dreaming. If so, he hoped never to wake again. At the same time, he knew that he could not possibly be dreaming because he could feel the thick humidity of the night air, it brought a trail of sweat with it that dripped a trail down his spine.

"Are you?" She countered in a voice edged with nervousness. It was gently accented, not quite the southern twang of the deep south but something different and more exotic.

"I hoped I would see you again." He heard himself admitting. The revelation surprised her and, for a moment, she looked unable to respond.

"Where... is this?" she finally asked, choosing to ignore his confession as she glanced around with a look of bewilderment. "I was in my room moments ago but now I am outside. How is this possible?"

"You know as much as I do," he replied with a shrug, "I've been stuck in this swamp for the better part of two days"

"There are swamps all over Iberville Parish," she murmured, her eyebrows pulling in as though perturbed, "that does not narrow down our location much."

"Iberville," he repeated. "Is that where we are? We were stationed at Stirling farm before but I had no idea where we ended up."

"Stirling Farm is only a few miles away," the girl told him quietly. "I visited a few times as a child but…" Here she trailed off as though another thought had suddenly occurred to to her.

Are you hurt?" She queried then, worriedly, giving him a quick up and down appraisal. As she pinned him with wide, concerned eyes Caleb tried to give her a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine" he said before shooting a glance over his shoulder at Gray, "though I can't say the same for my friend. He took a ball to the leg. If we don't find a doctor soon I don't think he'll make it."

"I am glad," she sighed, "not about your friend, of course," she corrected, her face apologetic, "just that you are not hurt. When you disappeared I...well, I feared the worst."

"What about you?" Caleb countered, noting the strained tightness under her eyes and the slight slump to her shoulders. She looked more than just a little tired.

"Are you alright?"

" _Mwen se amann_ ," she answered and then shook herself when she realized he likely didn't understand, "I am fine," she amended, giving him the ghost of a smile. "A bit tired, perhaps? It has been a long couple of days."

Amen to that, he thought wearily.

"How is it possible that you're here?" he asked her then, bringing the conversation back around.

"I _ah_..." She trailed off as she searched for the words to explain. When none presented themselves she gave a little shrug.

"I tried a...spell... of sorts." She offered vaguely. "It was supposed to answer a question but instead it has brought me here. Perhaps this is merely a hallucination?"

"Well, if you're hallucinating, then so am I." He pointed out, giving a short laugh.

" _Manman_ would have said I'm being crossed." The girl mumbled, wrapping her arms over her chest as though cold.

He thought briefly about offering her his jacket but it was covered in all manner of dirt, blood and grime. He wasn't confident that it smelled all that pleasant either. Caleb watched her face become guarded for a moment before she looked down and away.

"Do you think that's what's happening here, that we're being…?" He couldn't recall the word she used.

"Crossed?" she supplied, Caleb gestured yes with one hand.

"I don't see how," she continued, "None with a grudge against me practice Hoodoo and even if they did a spell like that would cost them dearly."

"I'm sorry, Hoo..doo?" He repeated confusedly, slowly settling himself onto a nearby log. He was weary and afraid his legs would give out on him.

"It's...It would take too long to explain." She replied frustratedly.

"Well, we have time...I think." He gave her a curious expression. "Was there a time limit on this thing you cast?"

"I have no idea." She muttered back.

Again there was that stretch of silence where the only sounds were insects and his unit mates deep breathing. He looked her up and down as she shifted nervously from foot to foot and bunched up the fabric of that nightgown. She looked completely out of place in the swamp and he found himself wondering, once again, where she had come from.

"Um…" he began nervously, the girl looked over at him expectantly, her dark brows rising in the low firelight once more.

"Sorry," he apologized, giving another nervous laugh, "I just….where were you? Before this moment, I mean?"

Seeing as how she stood before him in a night dress without a hint of dirt or leaves on it, he knew it was unlikely that she had just wandered out into the swamp and magically come upon his location. From his vantage point, she was as dry and clean as one would expect of someone who was getting ready to retire for the evening.

"Oh!" She blushed, looking down at herself in sudden embarrassment, as though just realizing how little she was wearing.

"I was in the.. _uh_..Slave Quarters," she replied softly. "With the other girls."

"You're a slave." he stated quietly. He said more for himself than as a question for her.

" _Ou."_ She muttered back nonetheless.

Caleb thought back to the nightmare they had shared, to the woman who lay dead on the floor and what he could remember of her appearance. Before everything had turned so dark and frightening he remembered noting that the woman's dress had been of a finer material than any slave would typically wear. If that woman had been her ' _Manman'_ then it was safe to assume that neither of them had been a servant forever.

"What's your name?" he asked her then.

She started at at his question then studied his face in the firelight, as though searching it for something.

"Lyric." she finally replied. "Lyric Atabei Harris."

"Lyric." He repeated slowly. He said it reverently, it was such a beautiful name. It suited her perfectly.

"Are you... Uncas, perhaps?" She quiered hopefully.

"Uncas?," He repeated the awkward word and laughed at how it rolled off his tongue. "No, sorry. I don't think I even know anyone named Uncas."

"Oh." She sighed, now looking a bit crestfallen.

"My Name's Caleb." He corrected. "Caleb Nahotabi."

"You have a christian name yet an Indian surname?" She said, her expression so confused that he couldn't help but smile.

"Well, I wasn't _born_ with a christian name." He explained, " I was saddled with it once the Orphanage got a hold of me."

"What were you called before?" She asked, walking over to settle next to him on the log. He scooted over to make room for her.

"Chula." He replied, smiling. It had been a long time since he had thought about that name, let alone said it.

"Chula." She repeated quietly. "I think I prefer that. You shall be Chula from _my_ lips."

"Well, if we're talking about names, how did you get yours?" He asked curiously, feeling inexplicably pleased that she preferred his given name to the latter.

"Lyric isn't exactly a common name." He pointed out.

"Oh, that would be my father," She replied, smiling wistfully for a moment, "He said he wanted a 'musical name' so, before I was born, my mother came up with a list of english words having to do with music. She said she narrowed it down to Lyric or Aria in the end."

"I think Lyric suits you." He complimented, studying her features with a soft smile.

She blushed and looked down, suddenly bashful. As she did so, a stray curl fell over her forehead, settling gently between her eyes. Without thinking, Caleb lifted his hand to brush it away but stopped midway when she looked taken aback by the sudden intimate closeness. She froze, her eyes locked solidly with his own.

"Beautiful." He heard himself breathe out. The campfire brought the stars back to her eyes. They glowed with preternatural light, as though he could see the galaxy in them.

Her eyes widened a bit so he coughed, lowering his hand. He must have covered badly because Lyric smiled and covered her mouth to hide it. He found he liked it when she smiled like that. He found that he liked a lot of things about her.

"Forgive me, I have no inkling as to what I'm supposed to learn here," She apologized then. " The ritual was unclear as to what would happen."

"Were you looking for this 'Uncas', is that why you were doing the... whatchamacallit?"

"The Hoodoo spell? Yes, I think so. Uncas was all I had to go on." She explained. It seemed there was more to the story than that but she was either unwilling or unable to get into it.

"Well, sorry to disappoint." He returned, a little surprised at his own feelings of inadequacy.

"I am not disappointed." She corrected, "On the contrary, I'm pleased to know that you are more or less unharmed. I worried for you."

The admission appeared to embarrass her and again she blushed and looked down at her hands where they rested in her lap. Caleb suddenly had a strong desire to take that beautiful face in his hands, to brush the hair from it and kiss those full lips. He longed to reassure her that he was alright and that, baring death, would never go from her sight again.

In the end, he did not do any of that.

Instead, he studied her profile and the shadows the fire created on her high cheekbones. The loveliness of her was almost heart wrenching. Caleb realized with an overwhelming clarity that whatever else this girl was, to him she was _Lahollo_ , his beloved, his... heartsong.

He loved her.

Ardently.

And he had no idea what to do with that.

After a few heartbeats, Lyric glanced back up at him. If she realized any of what he was thinking it didn't show on her dusky face.

"So, what happens now?" She asked quietly. "Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know." He mumbled back honestly. "I don't even know how much time we have."

He hoped they had decades but knew that there was likely a short shelf life on whatever spell she had cast. He wanted to stay on that log with her forever but knew that eventually she would be gone again. Lyric opened her mouth as though she were about to say something but then her eyes narrowed and she whirled to the left, as though she had heard something.

"What is it?" He asked, glancing in the direction she was peering. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"I thought I heard...?" She trailed off, holding a hand up as though asking him to be silent. She squinted, as though trying to see something better.

"Probably just insects." Caleb told her quietly, assuming she had heard the screech of a cicada.

"No, it's something else, I think someone is here..." she narrowed her eyes, tucking the corner of her cheek in as she continued to stare.

Then, without warning, she jumped to her feet. Caleb jumped up as well, startled and on alert by her suddenly frantic expression.

" _Bondye_!" she cried out and took a step forward as though confronting someone. Caleb reached out for her but it was as though he had grabbed nothing but air. In the few seconds it had taken him to blink, she was gone again, leaving behind more than just questions in her wake.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **Annnnnnnnnnd...it's another cliffhanger. I feel like the next 4 (maybe even 5) chapters are going to be like that, with a character dangling from a vine and dropping off at the end. (Thanks btw, Mohawk woman, for that imagery XD). I can see myself standing at the bottom of a cliff, looking up at whoever is currently up there and encouraging them to jump.**

 **Me: Ok, Caleb, your turn...let's go!**

 **Caleb: *Looking down* Uh, I don't know about this. Doesn't it seem kinda... high?**

 **Me: Naw, you'll be fine. Just let go!**

 **Caleb: *hesitantly* ok...**

 **(Caleb lets go and breaks a leg)**

 **Me: Great, now get up there and get ready for your next chapter!**

 **Caleb: *Whimper* why do you hate me?**

 **I'm so nice to my characters XD**

 **Anywho, the frequent cliffhangers aren't intentional, its just the way the plot keeps working out. I originally had this chapter running a little longer, with a scene where Caleb's freaking out after Lyric disappears and tying to explain to Saul that he's not, in fact, losing it. In my last read through though, I decided that it felt kind of arbitrary so I moved it out to around chapter 21( Caleb's next chapter) instead. I may end up combining a very short Bran chapter with Caleb's next one just so i'm not offering you guys a tiny box of text dressed up as a chapter. I feel like for chapter 20 and 21, there's just not enough there on its own but, as the two scenes ARE happening concurrently, I might be able to lump both POV's into one place. We'll see how it works out when I get there.**

 **Moving on, I had similar issues with the music in this chapter as I did with Lyrics last one. A sky full of stars by Coldplay was the original opener but the more I listened to it, the less I liked it as a theme. So,** **I went on a music search and chose Colorblind by Counting crows for this chapter instead of the Coldplay one. For one thing, it's a much slower song than A sky full of stars and I think it works much better than a poppy dance mix. I hadn't heard it in a number of years and listened to it arbitrarily when I was trying to choose the song for this chapter. I think it ended up working out quite well (Though I may never get the Cruel intentions sex scene out of my head when I hear it XD).**

 **So, quick update on updates: I'm going out of the country for a week at the end of February. (we're going to Ireland) There may or may not be another chapter update in between. I would like to say there will be, I seem to recall I was pretty happy with the state of my next chapter, but I could also go in to edit and decide the whole thing is shit. XD**

 **Hopefully that won't happen so, just fair warning if I disappear for a while again. I meant to get this chapter up last Friday but a doctors appointment for a month long asthma attack threw a wrench into that plan. Either way, I hope you enjoyed reading it. Things are going to be crazy for the next few chapters after this one.**

 **Thanks again for reading and reviewing and I will see you all next time!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 18**

* * *

 _And if they try to catch us out_  
 _We'll chase them down_  
 _We're gonna chase them down_

 _Cause we are the happiest pretenders-The happiest Pretenders, Claire Mcguire_

* * *

As Lyric starred into Chula's impossibly brown eyes, eyes that pulled her in and held her firm, she felt the strangest sensation of homesickness flood through her. Or rather, it was the sensation of finally returning home? She couldn't be entirely sure but, whatever it was she was feeling, she knew that she didn't wish to be parted from him again.

It was insanity, maybe even madness, but it was also a truth she felt so profoundly that it reverberated through her very bones. She was in love with this man. Hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him. She opened her mouth to..what? Tell him so? How would that sound when they were only just meeting for the first time? In the end, she never got the chance to tell him anything because something inexplicable began tugging at her consciousness. It wasn't something she could physically see or hear but more a perception of something not being quite right.

"What is it?" Chula queried, that lovely baritone of his rubbing against her skin like satin, as she whirled to peer into the dark woods behind them.

"I thought I heard…" She trailed off when she perceived more than _heard_ a sound. It defied description but if she had to put a name to it then it was akin to the feeling of being watched. She held up a hand, an unspoken request for him to be silent as she tried to ascertain what was happening.

"Probably just insects." he suggested.

"No, it's something else," she mumbled, tucking in the corner of her cheek and squinted into the darkness. She could almost make it out something moving just out of her line of sight.

"I think someone is here..."

At that moment an unfamiliar man appeared against the wall of foliage. Lyric jumped to her feet with a cry of ' _Bondye_ ' and it was a few moments after that that everything began to unravel. Tendrils of moss hanging above the stranger's head gave a shimmy and began to flicker before her eyes, fading in and out of focus as though someone where raising and lowering the wick in a lantern. As the light rose and fell, the Bayou morphed back and forth between dense wilderness and nondescript gray walls.

Lyric let out a gasp as the grass beneath her feet, which moments before had been ticking her toes, flickered as well. It gave her the oddest sensation of standing on nothing at all before all that lush green flattened out into rough, but nonetheless solid, wooden boards. As the sights and smells of the Bayou began to disappear, Lyric whirled about, hoping against hope that her soldier would still be there... but he too had vanished. She found herself staring into the sleepy and bewildered face of Delphine instead. Whatever moment she had shared with Chula was over and she was back where she had started. There was a part of her that raged against that inevitably and wanted, insanely, to race out into the swamps to find him again.

Her rational mind, however, reminded her that there was a much more pressing issue to contend with, that of the stranger who was currently invading their room. A stranger, she might add, who bore the confederate colors of a soldier. The other girls, awakened by Lyric's shout, let out yelps of alarm as they too jumped up to back into a corner, huddled together as though for protection. The drunken soldier grinned at them as he was joined seconds later by two others.

"Well, well, well, what have we here, boys?" One of the more sober newcomers drawled. He would have been handsome were he not smiling so licentiously around the room. His perfectly sculpted face sneered at the females who were pressed against the back wall before he swept them over to settle them on Lyric.

"Found ourselves some entertainment!" He hooted, clapping his hands together and rubbing them enthusiastically.

Clearly, these men were wedding guests of Bran's and clearly they had grown bored with whatever entertainment was left for them at the Main House. That boredom had led them out to the Slave Quarters and she had little doubt as it what kind of 'entertainment' it was they were looking for.

"Please, _mosye_ ," Lyric pleaded, hoping to appeal to the more rational side of him, "You should not be here. Please, go back to the Main House, there's nothing for you here!"

"Oh, I think there's plenty," he countered, raking her with dark, heat filled eyes, "If you're adventurous enough."

His expression sent a wave of ice water shooting down her spine. He advanced into the room with purpose, heading directly for her pallet as Delphine pressed herself back against the wall and whispered a prayer in Haitian. The other girls gave cries of alarm as the two other men advanced on them.

"This'll go quick if you don't fight." The soldier said as he reached out to take a hold of her arm. He made to pull her towards him when the distant sound of gunfire interrupted the moment.

"What the devil!" The man cursed, releasing Lyric to stamp his way back towards the door. She watched him march out onto the porch and peer out into the darkness with a mix of irritation and curiosity. There was a sudden, great bang from somewhere up the path and the man gave a great jerk before slumping to one side to lay in a pool of his own blood.

The other two men, sobered now by the racket, pulled their guns from their holsters and ran out to stand over their fallen comrade. Lyric crept silently forward to peer out as well, trying to see what was happening when a great boom suddenly shook the structure.

The drunk man who had initially invaded their shack squinted wildly into the darkness as another great crack erupted from up the path. He looked down at his chest in faint surprise as a bloody stain came to darken his uniform. Then he fell to his knees, letting out a bloody gurgle as there was a second cracking sound and he too was crumbling, rolling down the stairs to lay dead in the path.

Shouts chorused from seemingly everywhere, orders were called to ready cannons and fire. The third and only man remaining looked utterly terrified as he turned tail and ran, disappearing into the night without so much as a backwards glance. Lyric slammed the door shut on the carnage and screamed as another great boom shook the building.

"My God, what's happenin'?!" A slave girl named Prudence cried.

"It's the army," Lyric replied, shouting to be heard over the gunfire and booming cannons. "Some kind of scrimmage has spilled over onto the property."

A cacophony of voices screamed outside and an angry red glow could be seen out the small window across the room. Lyric ran to it in time to see a whole row of shacks erupting in flames a ways up the path. Slaves ran hither and thither, trying to escape only to be shot down by soldiers who either couldn't tell bystander from enemy in the darkness or simply didn't care to try.

"We have to get out of here!" She told the room. "The entire quarter is going up in flames."

"But where do we go, what do we do?" Another girl, Lydia, cried out frantically.

"The Bayou," Lyric said when her thoughts shifted ultimately to Chula. She obviously couldn't send the girls to his location as she didn't know where he was but she assumed the invading soldiers would have little interest in following a group of slave girls out into the swamps.

"Head for the Pier," she told them quickly, "there should be some _Pirogues_ tied up out there. Just get as far away as you can!"

She hurried back to the door and heaved it open, rocking back a step as the shack next to theirs erupted in flames. Steeling herself, she gestured for the girls to go. They ran down the steps like silent wraiths and disappeared into the trees behind the Quarter. Lyric watched until they were out of sight before glancing up the path towards the Main House. As much as her heart commanded her to go to Chula, she realized that she couldn't leave without her sister. She would never forgive herself if she left her there to be raped and killed. Screwing up her courage she hurried up the path, rushing towards danger rather than away from it.

"Miss Lyric, what are you doin?!" Delphine panted as she chased after her.

"I can't leave without Clarina!" Lyric shot back, moving swiftly whilst still trying to remain as much in the shadows as possible. It wasn't easy with the flames constantly pushing her back out onto the road. Rocks and pebbles dug into her bare feet but she paid them no mind, all she cared about was finding Clarina and getting the hell out of there.

"You'll be killed!" Delphine yelped, doing her best to keep up with Lyric's faster strides.

"I'm not leaving her behind!" Lyric snapped back stubbornly.

Why?" Delphine demanded, running to place herself in Lyrics path so that she had to stop and face her. They both jumped, ducking as more gunfire sounded.

"What has any of dem ever done fer you?" The other girl demanded incredulously.

"She's the only family I have left!" Lyric replied passionately. Again there was gunfire, again there were screams, they jumped out of the way as someone went racing past.

"I am going to that house, Delphine!" She told her friend firmly. "You can come with me or you can get out of my way but nothing is going to stop me from going up there!"

Delphine studied her face in the flickering light and let out a resigned puff of air. She clenched her jaw but ultimately gave a curt nod. If there was anything Delphine understood, it was lengths one would go for family. She had not been able to save her cousin but she might be able to help Lyric now. That was what ultimately made the decision for her.

"Follow me." She commanded and hurried quickly off to the left.

Bewildered, Lyric followed as Delphine led them on a zigzagging journey through the trees. She was hard pressed to keep up with her while still maintaining her footing.

"Delphine, where are we going?" She hissed, clapping her hands over her ears when another explosion sounded from up ahead.

"Dis the path I take sometimes to meet Sébastien. Iffin you want ta get in dat house undetected, dis da way ta go."

Lyric didn't ask anything more as Delphine came up short at the edge of some trees. She peered cautiously around, pausing as a few soldiers baring the color of the union army went racing around the side of the house. Once they were out of sight, she stepped out and dragged Lyric along quickly behind her. As Lyric looked around, she realized that her friends seemingly nonsensical path had led them to the side of the house where the laundry was usually carried in and out.

Delphine put a finger to her lips before they traversed a short set of stairs. It led them to a plain white door that the other girl tapped on before cautiously pushing it inward. Making no sound, she gestured for Lyric to follow her and they slipped into the house like dark spirits. There was a great deal of commotion coming from the front portion of the house where the soldiers who had burst their way through the front door were apparently trying to conscript anything they could get their hands on. They were running afoul of the valets and shouts could be heard as two people grappled with something. There was grunting and a crash, followed by a bang as a gun went off. Next came a wet sounding gurgle and finally nothing at all. Lyric pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming.

Delphine led her through another small door which deposited them on the other side of the butler's hallway. They paused, listening for anyone in the vicinity. There was plenty of noise coming from the dining room, where someone appeared to be ransacking the good china, but there was no sound to be heard coming from the kitchen. Perhaps the invading soldiers hadn't made it as far as the food lager yet? If they moved swiftly, maybe they could make it to the servants stair without being detected.

The two girls padded on bare feet down the hallway, pushing the door open to step into the kitchen where they nearly tripped over a body that lay sprawled in front of it.

"Oh, dear lord!" Lyric gasped as she took in the dead and staring eyes of Georgina.

The woman's chest was a huge ruined mess, her blood pooling out beneath her on the kitchen floor. Lyric rocked back a step, shaking her head as her brain tried to process what she was seeing.

"No...no, no, no,no…" She muttered over and over.

Delphine stared at the housekeeper with wide haunted eyes but swallowed whatever she was feeling and stepped swiftly over her. She held a hand out to Lyric who was still shaking her head in disbelief.

"Miss Lyric," Delphine said gently but firmly, "Come on now?"

"B-but Georgina...She…" Lyric stammered. It made no sense, who would hurt, let alone kill, the plucky old woman. She wouldn't have tried to stop the soldiers from taking the food, hell she might even have cooked it for them first if they had been even the least bit polite. It was unbelievable, it was cruel, and she couldn't rationalize its meaning.

"There ain't nothin' we can do fer her now, iffin' you want ta find yer sister den we gotsa ta keep movin.'" Delphine told her in a firm whisper.

Lyric knew on some level that Delphine was right but she couldn't tear her eyes from the face of a woman who had been like a grandmother to her. She had seen her, spoke to her, a mere hour ago. It was impossible that she could be dead now.

"Miss Lyric, C'mon!" Delphine commanded, reaching out to haul her forcibly over Georgina's prone form. She had no choice but to do as the other girl commanded, following numbly as she was pulled towards the servants stair. Delphine pushed Lyric up the stairs when she would have craned her head back to continue staring at the dead housekeeper. It was more force than she had ever used on Lyric in the past but it was also the only way to get her moving.

Nothing felt real and she wondered, fleetingly, if this was what shock felt like. Her emotions had become high and unreachable, she was dazed as though she had had a blow to the head. She wondered if this were all merely a dream and she would she wake in the shack in a few moments, sweating and frightened, but otherwise unharmed? She suddenly wished for that eventuality. She wished for it more than anything else in the world.

Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Lyric discovered she could not find the wherewithal to push the door open. Her body trembled from the horror of what she had just seen. Once again, Delphine had to take the reins. She stepped around Lyric to peer cautiously out into the upstairs hallway. All was quiet and then, suddenly, the girl gave a great cry of relief.

"Sébastien!" Delphine cried hoarsely, racing into the hall with none of her former caution. Lyric stepped out to stand mutely by the service door, watching as Delphine threw herself into the Valet's arms. He held the girl close as she sobbed, speaking in broken Creole against his neck.

"What are you doin' here?" He asked when he was able to push her back and look into her frantic face. He appeared relieved to see her but also utterly horrified that she was in the house at all.

"Miss Lyric wouldn't leave wit'out Miss Clarina and I couldn't let her come up here on her own." Delphine explained hastily. Again she threw her arms around his neck and whispered "I'm so glad you're safe!"

Lyric watched their reunion as though from a great distance. If things had not been as they were the moment would have been sweet, even romantic. As it was, she could barely pull forward the concentration to register it was happening at all, let alone appreciate its significance. She was more than a little surprised when there was a boom and the house gave a great shake. She watched in confusion as several things transpired at once.

First, Sébastien gave a sudden jolt. He slumped forward and fell, collapsing in Delphine's arms. The girl gave a cry of alarm as she attempted to keep him upright.

"Sébastien! Sébastien!" Her friend screamed over and over.

Next, Lyric heard a dim popping sound and Delphine, too, gave a jolt. Something hot and wet splattered across Lyric's face as her friends head shot back, a bloody hole now resting in the middle of her forehead. Delphine folded onto the hallway floor with Sébastien's weight coming to rest motionlessly on top of her.

"Delphine…" Lyric croaked, staring into her friends now hollow eyes.

Her heartbeat sounded loud in her own ears, a hollow _thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_ that sped up as Delphine's heart stopped forever. The couple's blood pooled out to mingle on the hallway rug. Lyric jumped backwards with a strangled cry as some of it seeped forward to touch her toes.

"Hello, Moon hair." A low voice greeted warmly.

Lyric lifted her head to discover Bran standing in a doorway just across the hall. At least, it should have been Bran. The person, or rather the monster, that was wearing his skin was something else entirely. Bran's still handsome face was a twisted mask to her eyes, the circles under his own so dark they created a bandit's mask and gave him the appearance of wearing war paint.

His white shirt and trousers were so soaked with blood that the original color had been lost and could now only be discerned by the one or two clean areas remaining. She noted with revulsion that blood also stained the corner of his mouth, it was smeared across his teeth as he grinned at her demonically from the other side of the hall. In his hand he held a still smoking pistol.

In some more lucid part of her mind, Lyric wondered that the soldiers below hadn't heard the gunshots. Perhaps they had been lost in the explosion or the soldiers merely assumed it to be from one of their own ransacking the upstairs rooms? All those questions paled in comparison to the fact that this man had just murdered her friend and was, even now, advancing towards her.

"Y-you killed them." She heard herself stammering. Her legs quaking beneath her made it difficult to remain upright.

"Yes." He said simply, taking a step out into the hall.

"Y-you…" she couldn't get the sentence out, it was getting lost in the bile that wanted to rise at the back of her throat.

"They were unimportant." He said, shrugging as though it meant little.

He advanced on her at a steady pace, taking the time to holster that still smoking gun. Lyric backed away until her back thumped against the wall. She needed to flee but her legs would not obey her.

"They are not part of this." He continued as he came to a stop before her and placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head, effectively pinning her in place. He leaned forward to put his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply.

"I can smell you, Moon hair," He teased in sing-song voice, that blood stained mouth so close that she could feel his hot breath against her ear. She recoiled with a shiver of revulsion at the metallic smell of blood all over him.

"I will enjoy teasing you out of all that dark flesh." He promised evilly.

The click of a hammer being pulled caused Bran to freeze, his now darker eyes going wide in faint surprise. Lyric flicked her eyes over his shoulder to see Clarina standing next to Delphine and Sébastien's bodies, her face a mix of bruises and dark smoldering anger. She had a pistol aimed directly at Bran's exposed back.

"Get the hell away from my sister!" She spat out angrily.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **well, that was an intense chapter to write. Hi, everybody, welcome to the chapter where I kill off a bunch of people and Magua gets all creepy in the upstairs hallway! XD**

 **That was a ride to write, let me tell you! I mean...I always knew Delphine was going to die. If you read the original story then it's not exactly a shocker but I didn't expect her death to be so hard for me. I actually felt a little gut punched once I got to it...same with Georginia's (Though thankfully we didn't have to witness hers). The thing is though, it kind of needed to happen. I didn't have a spot for either Sébastien or Delphine later in the story but they had had enough page time that I thought they deserved some kind of solid ending.**

 **Unfortunately, other characters will never get one, like Eulalie.** **I _assume_ Eulalie got out since we'll never find her body or see her again but I honestly don't care. I wasn't that fond of her to begin with. XD**

 **I DID like Delphine however so I do feel a little sad that she got brutally murdered along with her lover. Oh well, rest well Sébastien and Delphine! You...did stuff. XD**

 **I think in the original story I killed pretty much everybody in the house but I felt like that was unnecessary and unrealistic for the rewrite. The soldiers are killing people but I don't think they're going to take the time to line everyone up and shoot them. They're basically going to conscript whatever they can carry and move on. I'm throwing around the idea of having Horatio return once our main trio gets back to the house but that's about it. In his case he's an old man, this is his home and he had nowhere else to go. We'll see when I get there though.**

 **Ok, lets talk about Magua and his creepy behavior in the upstairs hallway for a minute, shall we? *Turns to Magua, who is still playing Harvest Moon on my DS* What the fuck was that, Magua? You didn't get your rape/murder jollies out of the way already?**

 ***Magua flips me the bird, keeps playing***

 **I swear he gets creepier the longer this story goes on. Oh well, at least I know whats in store for him (not that that helps any of you right now). Just know that things are about to get...interesting. XD**

 **Ok, music time!**

 **So, my score piece for this is called Nightmare and it's from the Lord of the dance soundtrack. Funny story about this piece, my best friend used to like to listen to music as she fell asleep and every time I spent the night with her, this was a piece of music that inevitably played. Now try to imagine listening to it in the dark. This piece of music scared the crap out of me when I was a teenager and it's taken me years to be able to listen to it. I could not have found a more appropriate theme for the chapter.**

 **Once again, I choreographed a scene to music and this was the result. I can tell you exactly what's happening with nearly every section of it:**

 **The first half (The part with the intense drum beat) is when the rapey soldiers invade the shack. Once the other instruments join in and the beat picks up its Lyric looking out the window and seeing the Quarter going up in flames. Once the music gets super intense we have Lyric and Delphine arguing about going up to the house and then racing through the trees. Eventually, there's a section like a march (halfway through I think) and that's when they stumble across Georginia before going upstairs. Once you hear that heartbeat noise, Delphine and Sébastien have been shot and Lyric is standing there horrified. Finally, there's a sound like thunder and we see Magua standing in the doorway with his smoking gun. He advances into the hallway and backs her up to the wall during this weird gutteral section. Everything from there leads up to Clarina pulling the gun on him. *End scene***

 **The other piece of music, Happiest Pretenders is just kind of... there. I honestly don't have anything to say about it other than i liked the song and needed something somewhat intense for the chapter opening. I wish I could say that I had something choreographed for this as well or that I hear it playing in the background or something but uh...I don't. It just felt more right in the scene than what i had there originally so there ya go.**

 **Next Chapter coming up will be another Clarina POV and its probably not going to be any easier to read than this one was, if i'm honest. (Though for different reasons that I won't get into for the sake of not spoiling my own narrative). I've hit one of the super sad sections of my story but it'll level out again for a while soon. Once we get our trio together there will be more 'at home' type scenes. Since Gray is going to be in no condition for travel i'm gonna have to make everyone stay put for a while. That's ok though...cause staying put means sexy time chapters and who doesn't like those?**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this at least. I would try to get another up next week if I thought that was a possibility but i'm going to be in Ireland and doubt I'll be doing any writing. Just know that we're getting that much closer to a true meeting between all the characters. It's about damn time too...it's been like 18 chapters and they've only had one brief supernatural conversation. Oh well, at least we know it's coming right?**

 **Happy reading and I will see you all later!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 19**

* * *

 _I can't love you_

 _I can't love you_

 _It isn't possible, possible, possible, babe_

 _It isn't possible for me and you- I love you, Tanita Tikram_

* * *

"I said," Clarina repeated, making certain that each syllable dripped with the force of her fury, "Get the hell away from her."

Bran did not immediately reply. Instead, he looked over his shoulder, his eyes so dark they created black pits in his otherwise pale face. He regarded her with what could only be described as faint surprise before a languid, lazy smile came to lift the corners of his lips.

"Hello, wife." He greeted, his voice eerily calm for a man who had a pistol trained on his back. Clarina glowered in reply as she tightened her grip on the butt of the weapon.

"Am I to believe," He queried in that annoyingly condescending tone of his, "that a pampered, well bred woman such as yourself knows how to use that?"

His question, or more precisely the way in which he asked it, racketed up her already frayed nerves. Narrowing her eyes, Clarina shifted the pistol a quarter of an inch to the right and fired it, watching with satisfaction as the plaster exploded nearby. A visible tightening rippled across his shoulders as Lyric let out a startled scream, flinching away from the falling bits of wallpaper and splintered wood. Quickly, Clarina retrained the weapon back to its previous location.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of." She informed him coldly.

She was amazed that her hand was as steady as it was, considering that when she had awoken she had been confused and more than a little sore. Finding herself alone, the reasons for that confusion and discomfort had not been immediately apparent. Her fuzzy mind had been unable to account for much of anything aside from the chaos outside and the pain that seemed to ripple across every muscle in her body.

It was not until recollection began to return that the anger set in. A cold, unforgiving fury that demanded retribution. It was anger that fueled her now, funneled into the arm that held the pistol. She was vengeance personified, a Valkyrie, and she was going to make damn sure Bran never had the opportunity to touch her again.

"I'm impressed, Ms Harris," he suddenly complimented, bringing her back to the present situation.

"I suspected there was more to you than frills and polished manners. Should the opportunity present itself, I think I would very much like to... enjoy you again."

His words sent a flash of boiling rage shooting throughout her body. How dare he! How dare he stand there and belittle what he had done, mocking her as though it were trivial!

"You will never touch me again." She promised seethingly.

Her words might have carried more weight had she not been standing there in a torn dressing gown. It was hard to appear intimidating when one was in bare feet, standing upon two legs that threatened to give out from under them at any given moment. She hoped the strain didn't show upon her face though she suspected Bran wouldn't care either way.

"What is it you expect to happen here, hmmm?" He asked amusedly. "Do you intend to shoot me?"

He spoke as though she were a silly little girl who was merely playing make believe.

"The Union is, even now, ransacking the house. Tell me, what do you think will happen if they come up here?"

Clarina hated to admit she hadn't planned her actions further than getting him away from her sister. It showed how deeply her shock ran that she hadn't considered how her little pot shot might draw unwanted attention. She was smarter than this, goddammit! It hurt her pride to have that lack of consideration pointed out so nonchalantly.

"While we're on the subject," Bran continued, his voice taking on a bored edge now, " Where did you manage to procure that weapon? _Your_ kind don't strike me as the weapon owning sort."

The pistol was, in fact, her fathers though she'd be damned if she was going to tell him that. Clarina had completely forgotten about its existence until just a few moments ago, _after_ she had fully recalled every last detail of his attack. _After_ the onslaught of memories had made her so ill that she vomited up the meager contents of her belly all over the bedroom rug.

Even now, the memory of Bran's twisted and grinning face looming above her was so vivid it had bile threatening to climb up the back of her throat. It was as though she could still feel him, as though he were still ramming himself into her with no gentleness or regard for her person. She forcibly swallowed it back down. There was nothing left but air and tears anyway.

Her father had shown her where the gun was hidden when she was a little girl, it was perhaps the only gift he had left to give her...even if it was an inadvertent one. He couldn't have know she would need it on her wedding night, that her husband would rape her and then attempt to take her sister hostage. Whether or not she wanted it to, her mind drifted to the day he had shown it to her...

* * *

" _Now this," Papa explained. "Is how you pour your grains into the cylinder."_

 _Clarina nodded as he poured the 30 or so grains into the aforementioned cylinder while her head nearly blocked his line of vision. He was being exceedingly patient with her as they hid away from her mother, who seemed hell bent upon her learning to play the pianoforte._

 _Clarina hated those lessons, which were always held in her mother's muggy sitting room. She hated the crotchety old man who rapped her knuckles with a baton whenever she made a mistake (which was frequent). She hated all the gilt mirrors which reflected her lack of skill back at her, reminding her just how musically minded she wasn't._

 _Her younger, though admittedly illegitimate, sister was the musical one. A fact her mother despised and was trying her hardest to remedy. Clarina had run to hide as soon as the tutor arrived and her parents bedroom was the most logical place as it was the last one her mother would think to check._

 _She hadn't expected to find her father there and thought, for a moment, that she might be forced to hide out in Isadora and Lyrics quarters... but he had smiled and silently waved her inside. She would much rather be with him anyway, watching him clean and assemble the pistol, than hiding out with his mistress and drinking tea that tasted like a steel fence._

" _Next, we insert the cedar",_ _he continued_ , " _and push it down, leveling it out."_

 _She nodded, watching with rapt attention._

" _Finally", Papa said, holding up a tiny metal ball before her focused twelve year old eyes,_ " _We place the musket ball on top here"._

 _He_ _spun the chamber and pulled a lever under the barrel to push the little metal ball further in. He did this step three more times before standing to walk over to the wide fireplace._

" _Remember, 'Rina_ ," _he said, grasping one of the bricks and pulling gently, she gasped when it came away cleanly to reveal a little compartment,_ " _should anything happen to me, the gun will be right here."_

" _Yes papa.",_ _She replied obediently, nodding and still awed that such a hiding spot existed in her otherwise boring house. She made a mental note to search out other such places later._

" _And let's not tell, mama, hmm?" he said with a wink as he replaced the brick. When he turned to face her again he had a secret smile spreading over his affectionate face._

" _What she doesn't know won't hurt us."_

* * *

There was a bit of agony in that memory. The father of her childhood was gone. He was no longer there to hide her from her mother's strange, petty whims. Gone was the affectionate 'Rina', that only he had ever used. All that was left now was herself, and Lyric, and the gun she still pointed at her disappointment of a husband.

It appeared they were at an impasse. Clearly, Bran was not going to release Lyric and Clarina had no intention of relinquishing her weapon. If she fired now, even to disarm him, she risked hitting her sister. She needed to get her away from him before she did anything at all.

"Lyric," she heard herself speaking as though through someone else's vocal chords, "Come here."

"She's not going anywhere." Bran spat, shooting a hand over to grab the girl harshly by the throat. Lyric let out a strangled cry, her golden eyes going wide in pain and sudden loss of air. Her arms came up to grip the one that held her but she was unable to do more than claw at it.

"Let her go!" Clarina commanded angrily.

"That," Bran replied, whirling to pull Lyric in front of him like a human shield, "is not going to happen." He pinned her against him, one arm over her throat while the other hauled her limb up roughly behind her. She let out a pained cry as he held her firmly in place.

"Here's how we're going to proceed," Bran informed them in a terse voice, " _You_ are going to put that bloody pistol down and the _three_ of us are going to leave this house together. Once we reach an adequate distance I can decide what to do with you. I've already dispensed with one problem this night, another will hardly make a difference."

"These two were hardly a threat to you," Clarina told him lowly, gesturing with her head at the bodies by her feet, "You didn't need to kill them."

She had heard him shoot the girl, Delphine it would appear, from the other side of the bedroom door. She couldn't fathom why he felt he needed to do so but then again he was doing a great many things she didn't understand.

"Come, come, Miss Harris," He responded with a humorless laugh. " Do you honestly think I would care about a couple of servants? They were merely blocking my way to this one."

He indicated Lyric with his eyes but otherwise didn't move.

"Who else could I be speaking of, do you think?" He taunted with an evil sort of smile spreading over his face. "What other attempted to take that which is mine?"

"That which is...yours?" She repeated, still not following.

Still grinning, Bran turned his head slightly and buried his nose in Lyrics abundance of curls. He inhaled deeply and she turned her head away in disgust, grimacing as though she were going to be sick. As Clarina witnessed this bizarre interaction, pieces began to fall into place by small, painful, increments. His offer to purchase Lyric from her mother, his insistence she keep the papers safe until after the wedding, even his entire demeanor around the other girl now...it all had one core element.

"Did you…" She had to pause as the words stuck in her throat, "Did you kill.. my mother?"

He didn't answer but he didn't need to, the truth was written all over his face and body. Perhaps she had been too involved in her own shock and vehemence to truly take him in but, now that she was paying attention, she discovered that he was covered in blood. It stained his mouth, his teeth, it ran in dark rivulets down to his trousers. How had she managed, during the back and forth of their discourse, to miss something so painfully obvious?

"You killed my…" She couldn't even say the word 'mother'. It was as though it had been struck completely from her vocabulary.

"I've killed many people," He returned with a shrug, "She was hardly special."

Suddenly, Clarina's mind shot back to the day she had discovered the Slave girl's body in that ditch. She recalled the gaping hole in Cosette's chest, her wide staring eyes as she looked blankly up into that stormy sky. Had she not heard Constable Montcalm tell her mother that Cosette's heart had been removed? Was Bran not standing before her now, with crimson smeared all over his face, admitting that he had killed not only her mother but others as well?

"Oh my god," Clarina whispered in sudden, horror-filled realization. "You killed Cosette."

"There's the clever girl The Boy is so enamored with," he returned smugly. "I knew you'd get there eventually."

She only had a moment to wonder at his meaning of 'The Boy' before she shook her head in a a sudden onslaught of disbelief.

"No, no," she stammered incredulously, unwilling to accept what he had already admitted to be true "That's not possible, you're not a killer! Y-You're not cruel, y-you didn't even want to go to war."

She was rambling now, trying to make sense of something that made no sense at all. Good god, was she losing her mind? Was she going to end up like those poor, shell shocked soldiers at the hospital, raving and clawing the walls?

" _The Boy_ did not want to go." Bran corrected her, tersely. "I, however, gloried in it!"

"Why do you keep saying that?" She burst out, frustrated and confused and unfortunately faltering under the weight of _everything_ she had just learned. "Who is 'The Boy', why are you speaking in riddles?"

Her gun arm beginning to shake now. She knew she needed to focus but his horrible confession was eating it's way into her brain and clouding her ability to do so. She didn't know how much more of this she could take.

"He's not Bran, Clarina," Lyric gasped around the pressure he was exerting on her windpipe, "Not in the way you know him anyway."

"I don't understand." She mumbled, shaking her head and trying to return her attention to the situation at hand. She understood that he had killed her mother, a fact that her rattled nerves were unable to fully process yet. She also understood that he was responsible for the murder of their slave but...how could he _be_ someone other than the man she had known since childhood?

"Your understanding is not required." Bran bit out impatiently, pulling Lyric in tighter. "Your compliance, however, is. I do not relish the thought of bringing those enemy soldiers up here nor do I wish to injure the Moon hair but I _will_ if need be... now put down the goddamn pistol!"

Why was he calling Lyric 'Moon Hair'? Clarina's head spun, so much so that she visibly struggled to maintain her hold on the pistol. As if sensing her sisters resolve faltering, Lyric took an enormous gamble. Bran's arm relaxed just enough for her to lower her chin. Without preamble, she sunk every tooth she had into his exposed forearm.

The man gave a great holler of pain, ripping his arm down and away from her biting teeth. Lyric ducked as he tried to take a swing at her and scurried across the hall towards Clarina on all fours. Several things happened in that next moment, the first of which as that Bran, his face a mask of rage and pain, dove at them.

Clarina's finger, which had been twitching next to the trigger for quite some time, moved of its own volition. There was a deafening bang as smoke erupted from the barrel. Bran jolted, his face a stunned mix of surprise and pain, before he rocked back to land heavily against the wall.

"Who's up there?" A harsh voice barked from somewhere down below.

Bran coughed, letting out a pained groan before lifting his head to take in the two women. The smug, angry mask he had worn not twenty seconds ago was gone, having melted into something... softer, more familiar. He raised blue eyes to Clarina's jade ones and looked, for all the world, utterly bewildered.

"Clarina?" He queried softly. "What's going on, why is your dress torn, why are you-? He hissed, reaching up to clamp a hand over the bleeding hole now gracing his right shoulder.

"McGregor!" The voice from downstairs barked again. "Go see who's up there!"

Bran pressed a hand against the wound, grimacing in what must have been a tremendous amount of pain. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself away from the wall but seemed unable to do more than wobble where he stood.

"Good god, he's done it again hasn't he?" Bran moaned, speaking more to himself than either of the two women.

Steps rang out in the marble hallway below, the slapping of heels against a freshly polished floor. Shifting his eyes to the landing, Bran pulled his lips into a thin line as he appeared to debate something with himself. Finally, he sighed, a deep resigned sound in the smoky hallway, before giving a curt nod.

"You two need to leave." He told them flatly. "I can buy you a little time but not much. Head for the servants stair and run for town, just get as far away from here as you can!"

"What about you?" Lyric asked as though she inexplicably understood what was happening better than Clarina did. She glanced between them, now more confused than ever.

"I can only hold him at bay for so long." Bran replied, gritting his teeth and gripping that injured shoulder. The way he was holding onto it, the way his fingers dug into it, should have caused him no small amount of pain yet he seemed determined to keep doing it. Wincing, he spit blood onto the ornate rug and pulled his pistol from it's holster. His hands shook as he checked the chamber. When he was satisfied it was loaded, he turned sad eyes in her direction.

"I'm so sorry, Darling... for everything." His words echoed with so much sincerity that it was almost heartbreaking to listen to. "I can't make up for what my Dark Passenger has done but what I _can_ do is give you a fighting chance."

"I don't...I.." she stammered. Had the world gone mad, one moment she's training a pistol on him, fully prepared to kill him if necessary and the next he's...what? Letting her walk away? Then there was the question of all the words he kept using; Moon Hair, The Boy, Dark Passenger, none of it made any sense.

"Lyric," he said, turning his eyes towards her sister when she seemed incapable of responding, "Get her away from here."

"Won't you even make a try for it?" Lyric asked, her voice quiet and sad sounding.

"Not this time." He mumbled, stumbling painfully forward to place himself in the middle of the upstairs hallway. Clarina felt Lyric tugging at her arm, trying to draw her backwards towards the servants stair but couldn't make her feet move.

Despite everything that had happened, everything he had done, Clarina couldn't pull her eyes away from her husband as she was, in turn, pulled away from him. Even if she didn't understand all that had been revealed in the hallway that night, she understood that Bran was about to do something foolish... and yet utterly selfless.

"Bran!" She heard herself calling. He glanced over his shoulder and gave her a saddest smile in the world.

"You were all I ever wanted," he told her ardently. "I hope you find a better man than me when this is over."

"BRAN!" She screamed but Lyric was already pulling her through the door. She might have turned back if the other girl hadn't had an iron grip on her arm. She pulled Clarina along as they all but fled down the narrow staircase.

Tears streaked Clarina's face as they blew through the kitchen and out into the yard. She nearly choked on them as shouts sounded from somewhere behind them. They ran in the direction of the Pier as gunshots ricocheted from seemingly everywhere.

The two women threw themselves into the only remaining _Pirogue_. As Lyric paddled them away from the house, Clarina turned back to catch one last glimpse of her childhood home. At least one portion of it was on fire and another had collapsed into a pile of rubble. Even if she had not been happy there, seeing it reduced to such a state was painful indeed.

Dimly, she was aware of muffled shots being fired from somewhere within the house. She scrubbed at her cheeks with one hand before picking up the paddle with the other. She had no way of knowing Bran's ultimate fate but she was fairly certain that she would not see him as he had been again. It was strange to feel an ache of grief for a man who had hurt her in the way that he had. She should hate him, and a part of her did, he had killed her mother, after all. He would have killed her as well and done god only knew what to Lyric. She should have felt relief that he was dead. Instead, all she felt was emptiness.

Silently, Clarina began to row. She rowed away from Breeze Knoll and the life she was supposed to have had there, from the husband who had not been what he was supposed to be. She rowed away from the life she had known. Silently, she helped the _Pirogue_ carry them forward into the night.

* * *

 **Authors note:**

 **good god, I thought I was NEVER going to get them out of that damn house! I don't know if anyone else has this problem when they write but sometimes the characters just want to keep talking and, even though i'm standing over here tapping my watch at them, they just ignore me and keep doing what they're doing. That's pretty much what happened here...well, that and I was having flow issues again.**

 **It seemed like every time I came back to this chapter to edit, it would be going great, and then there would be this jarring jump. Like, I had a section where Clarina muddles over what happened when she woke up (The 'being confused, then the puking, then finding the gun and having the flashback' thing) but it was really confusing the way I had it set up so I removed most of the description and added more dialogue.**

 **Then it got around to the 'Dude, I totally killed your mom' bit but the way in which Magua revealed it was kinda dumb so I had to vague that up ...which led to MORE dialogue.**

 **Finally, I succeeded in having Clarina shoot his ass and then what happens? BRAN DECIDES TO COME BACK! Which leads to, you guessed it, more dialogue!** **Honestly, I was ready to kill all of them by that point and end the story there (Ok, that's a lie but i won't say I didn't consider it for a couple seconds) but I refrained. XD**

 **This chapter was a ride to write though, in a different way than some of the others. I mean, we have Clarina coming out of a pretty intense attack for one thing. I wasn't sure how she was going to be once I got to this chapter but, uh...that girl is PISSED OFF! I don't know if i've ever written a scene where a character practically vibrated with the intensity of their anger before. I also don't know how long she's going to be able to maintain that, the shock is going to settle in sooner or later.** **The same can be said for Lyric too, though she's not riding high on the anger train quite as hard as her sister. Either way, the two of them are going to be interesting to deal with in subsequent chapters. Hope the guys are ready for that.**

 **As you've probably already guessed, I'm back from Ireland! Been back for a couple of weeks but I couldn't update due to the aforementioned flow issues. The trip was great, by the way, though damn cold! That's what we get for going in February. I wish we had had more than 5 days, it made it a little hard to see all the things i wanted to, but I did make it to the Kilmainhaim Gaol, Dublin castle, and the National history museum. The kid was sick the whole first day we were there so we didn't get to do anything until that night (Which entailed going to a pub and eating our weight in shepherds pie lol). I really hope we can go back in a few years and see some of the country side too.**

 **Ok, I think I mentioned this last chapter, but the next one after this is going to be a combined Bran/Caleb POV. The reason for that is that I don't have enough text to justify splitting them into their own separate chapters. I really didn't want to have to combine anyone's if possible but If I don't then you guys are going to get stuck with a two chapters that are basically just blurbs. I would rather give you guys something a little more substantial to read, especially if you have to wait a while between updates.**

 **With that out of the way, I'll talk real quick about the music for this chapter. Its went through, like, 3 songs before I finally settled on I Love You by Tanita Tikaram. This is a song I hadn't heard in a really long time and I chose because it's slower and more despondent than the one I was originally going to use. (The one I used before is one I adore and it will probably make an appearance later in the story but it was way too power ballady for someone who had just suffered a sexual assault.) It felt appropriate, especially as Clarina struggles at the end to understand that the Bran she knows and the Bran that hurt her are not the same person...thus the line 'It isn't possible for me and you' being used at the top there. Its a good song, I recommend giving it a listen.**

 **Anyway, thanks for waiting on me as I added endless amounts of dialogue to this thing. I'm sorry it wasn't ready to go sooner but I refuse to upload something i'm not happy with. Hopefully, the next chapter will be uploaded faster than this one was. (Gonna go edit it now) Anyway, happy reading to all of you and I will see you all next time!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 20**

* * *

 _You're running from the ghost on top of the hill,_

 _He's calling your name, he's calling your name,_

 _You thought he was gone,_

 _But you're awake,_

 _And you're caught in the middle again-Beetle, Run River North_

* * *

Bran teetered on unsteady legs as he turned to face the landing. Blood ran in thick rivulets from the gunshot wound in his shoulder and he wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep. Despite everything; The blood, the pain, the senseless violence... he felt clearer than he had in a very long time.

The Painted Man, however, could boast no such calm.

He was screaming within the confines of Bran's skull, slamming himself against its walls with a tremendous amount of force. The assault was painful but strangely ineffective. Realizing his histrionics were doing little to faze his otherwise stoic host, The Demon flew into a deeper rage, clawing and shrieking like a banshee in his attempts to break free.

Mutely, Bran reached his free hand up to dig his fingers into the bleeding wound. The gesture was agony but it had a purpose. It kept him focused, kept his Dark Passenger at bay.

 _You will pay for this, boy!_ The Painted Man bellowed in his ear, _I will make you watch as I eat the Harris girl's heart!_

Strangely, the demon's threats meant very little him. There had been a time, even a few days ago, where such words would have had him acquiescing to anything. As he didn't plan on either of them being around much longer, Bran paid them little attention. Let his Dark Passenger scream and rage, it would keep him distracted long enough for him to do what he needed to do.

 _Do not test me_ , The Demon screeched in unhinged fury, _I will make you experience every last moment of her pain!_

Bran continued ignoring him, focusing instead of the slapping of boot heels against the lower staircase. _Thwack, thwack, thwack_ they resounded against the polished marble, no doubt ruining the finish Lady Harris had taken such pride in. That was the sound of fate coming for him, he realized. It would arrive baring the yankee colors of oppression... but it was no more, or less, than he deserved.

 _What are you playing at?_ The Painted Man suddenly queried. He had stilled in his tantrum, as though just realizing his host might have more planned than letting the women escape. Bran could imagine him turning about, a calculating puzzlement crossing that dark, devilish face.

"I'm done playing," Bran informed him lowly, "it's time to end this."

Those footfalls were echoing on the stairs now, ascending rapidly. He lifted his pistol arm as much as the injured shoulder would allow, but knew there was little chance he would be get off a shot. Clarina's aim had indeed been level and true. His trigger finger was now refusing to obey even the simplest of commands, it was likely she had damaged his gun arm beyond repair.

 _You will get us killed, you foolish boy!_ His Demon suddenly roared. Was that the barest hint of fear he detected under all that fury? Bran smiled at the thought of finally being able to disarm him.

He didn't know the exact details of what had transpired after The Painted Man had forced him down into his own consciousness but the taste of blood in his mouth and Clarina's appearance when he had come back to himself had been enough to give him an inkling. There had been such hatred in her jade eyes, such unbridled fury. He knew that, regardless of what happened this night, he had lost her forever.

Soon, it would no longer matter. He didn't want to live in a world where she would _always_ be at the mercy of his cohort, where he would never know when The Demon would arise nor what he would do when he did. This was better, they deserved this end.

 _No!_ The Demon screamed as he fully comprehended what Bran had planned. He tried to take control back, tried to lower the pistol arm and force the legs flee to the servants stair, but the actions were like the batting of a flies wings. Whatever advantage _He_ had gained, it was lost now.

A Union soldier appeared around the bend in the staircase, making his way up onto the landing. He started for a moment when he caught sight of Bran, who faced him calmly with his pistol held before him in a loose, ineffective grip.

"Drop the weapon!" The soldier commanded, swiftly aiming his rifle. This was an older gentleman, older than his target anyway, with a face that might have been friendly had it not been screwed up in such tight concentration. What had this man's profession been before the war, Bran wondered? Farmer perhaps? He held the rifle as though he knew his way around it. He had little time to ruminate, however, because a second soldier had appeared next to the first one. This one raised his weapon as well, squinting down the line of sight.

 _Don't you dare!_ The Painted Man roared in his ear.

"Drop it!" The first soldier commanded once more.

Bran merely stared back at them, waiting a second or two, before taking a deep breath and a single, faltering, step forward. The world slowed to a crawl as the soldiers fired their weapons. It was hard to say who pulled the trigger first. Bran watched impassively as the bullets slid from their chambers in great puffs of black smoke. He counted the seconds before the bang from the gunpowder occurred, almost half a second after the bullets began to move. It was as though they too were trying to delay the inevitable.

Bran straightened as those bullets flew towards him. He opened his arms as if he could hug the projectiles to his chest. He gasped when he felt them penetrate. The burning sensation was agony as the Minnie balls ripped through his body. It was alarming, yes. It was painful, most certainly... but it was also the most welcome sensation in all the world.

If the firing of the bullets felt slow, Bran's collapse to the hallway floor was slower. He came to rest beside the couple The Painted Man had recently dispatched. He found himself staring into the blank eyes of the female, close enough to count her abundant set of lashes. Those dark eyes put him in mind of Sarah, the pretty nurse his Dark Passenger had also killed. So many had been lost in his fight to reach this moment, he sent up a silent prayer for her forgiveness as his Dark Passenger screamed in defeat from inside his head.

That, too, was a welcome noise. The Demon was beaten and he knew it, by a boy he thought incapable of doing much of anything. Bran relished the sound of his Dark Passenger's defeat, even as blood began to bubble up in his chest.

The soldiers were in the hallway now, their voices thin and dull as they conversed. One of them came to stand over him, the second soldier, whom he hadn't initially gotten a good look at. Why, he was little more than a child! No older than 15 or 16 if he was that. How odd that a child should find himself immersed in this ridiculous war. Had he joined to spare an aging parent, or perhaps as a way of sending money home to a struggling family? It mattered very little Bran supposed, the war would make murderers of all of them in the end.

Grey spots began appearing at the corners of his vision, so he turned them away from the dead slave girl and the child soldier. Turning his gaze upwards, towards the ornate ceiling of the hallway instead. There he found a fine mosaic carved into the white plaster. That of a man, a perfect adonis, resting atop a cloud. The figure stared off into the distance as though at something wonderful. Bran wished he could see it too, whatever it was. He hoped he was headed towards wherever that figure was looking, though he suspected he was more likely hellbound

"Well, I'll be goddamned!" a gruff voice exclaimed as a fuzzy, featureless face leaned in to block his view of the alabaster figure. "He's still breathing!"

"How is that possible," another, younger sounding voice responded, "We shot him from less than 3 feet away!"

"Don't matter none," replied the first, Bran was aware of something long, but equally fuzzy, being lifted above his head, "he's as good as dead!"

Bran closed his eyes, smiling, as something solid cracked harshly down upon his skull. Once, twice, three times... then the world faded away.

Painted Man and all.

* * *

Caleb stared incredulously at the spot where Lyric had been and wondered, for a moment, if she had ever really been there at all. There was certainly no sign of her presence now; not a scrap of cloth or a lock of hair. It was as though he had dreamed her up and very suddenly awoken, dazed and more than a little confused.

Striding over to where she had disappeared, Caleb batted aside the foliage as though he would find some clue as to her whereabouts there. Of course there was nothing and why would there be? She resided in a place he had no hope of finding under the current circumstances. He ran a hand back through his hair and desperately tried to think of what he could do from his current location.

He cursed when he came up with a whole lot of nothing.

Frustrated, he kicked at the bush, as though it were personally responsible for this newfound anxiety. His assault on the local fauna inevitably served little purpose. It did not make the girl reappear nor did it assuage his worry. In fact the only thing it accomplished was waking up his exhausted traveling companions.

"Wha's happening?" The Rabbi mumbled sleepily, shooting out of sleep with a grunt.

Caleb took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out in a deep sigh.

"Nothing," he muttered back a few seconds later. "Nothing at all."

Irritably, he stomped back to flop on his ass beside the fire. He hefted up a nearby stick and proceeded to angrily poke the fire with it.

"Go back to sleep." he told the man in a terse voice.

His tantrum had clearly racketed Saul out of much needed sleep. The man blinked at him confusedly before pushing his spectacles, which had slipped down his nose sometime in the last two hours, back up. He rubbed at his forehead before sitting up completely and fixing a concerned gaze on his Unit Mate.

"You alright there, Redman?" Saul prodded quietly.

No, he was not alright and he wouldn't be until he knew Lyric was safe. The fact that he had no goddamn way of getting to her was really pissing him off. How did he explain any of that to the old man though, without sounding like he had lost his mind?

"I'm fine." He managed to return tightly.

"Then," Saul spoke carefully, " could you take it easy on the fire? You're about to set Mouth on fire."

Caleb stilled in his motions as he realized he had been shoving the makeshift poker so hard into the flames that he was also sending glowing embers out onto Gray's sleeping roll. He cursed again, pulling his mouth into a hard line as he jumped up to bat at the part that had started to smolder.

"Ok, what's going on here?" Saul asked confusedly when Caleb finally succeeded in keeping the bedroll (and Gray) from going up in flames.

"I know you're worried about Mouth, but this is the first time I've seen you agitated enough to crawl out of your own skin. What's gotten you so riled up?"

"Nothing." He asserted more forcefully, settling back on his heels and gritting his teeth together to keep from screaming. He needed to get it together before he did something stupid.

"Excuse me, but that's a load of _shlock!_ " Saul replied flatly.

Caleb's shoulders went tight for a moment before he turned to give the old man what he knew was a harrassed expression. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to explain himself, it was more that he didn't know _how_ to explain any of it. Even if he tried, Saul would have little reason to believe him.

 _Oh, there's a girl I've been seeing in dreams,_ he imagined saying, _and once on the battlefield. She did a spell that allowed her to visit me for about an hour. She's gone now but, don't worry, I'm not losing my marbles or anything!_

Yeah, Caleb could just imagine how that would go over.

"It's..." He began and then halted, unable to think of a decent enough lie. Finally he sighed, then sagged, before running his hands through his hair again.

"Look, let's just leave it at 'something happened'," He offered vaguely "and preffice that with 'even if I tried to explain, I don't think you would believe me'."

"Yeah, well, try me," Saul replied with a shrug, "A few months ago, I wouldn't have believed I'd be trudging through this hellhole in a Union uniform but here I am! Your story can't be any stranger than that."

Boy, was he wrong! Still, what else could Caleb do? He needed to offer the man some sort of explanation and bullshitting him wasn't accomplishing anything. He hadn't shown himself to be untrustworthy in the two days they had been in each others company so what could it hurt. At the very least it got everything out in the open. If he was honest, he needed to tell someone other than Gray about this, even if just to get a fresh perspective.

Caleb had intended to gloss over the stranger bits of the story, like the song and the nightmare, but ended up telling the old man everything anyway. Saul was strangely reticent as Caleb told his bizarre tale, merely listening with a thoughtful expression on his wizened face. When he reached the end he was still just as impassive as he had been at the beginning.

"Is it possible," The Rabbi offered after a beat or two of silent contemplation, "that this 'visit' was merely another dream? It's been a rough couple of days and no one would blame you if you fell asleep while keeping watch."

Had it not been for the fact that he had sat next to Lyric, looked into her eyes, and felt the warmth radiating off of her skin then, yes, he might have wondered the same thing. He knew that she had been there however and it was with that certainty that he replied now.

"No, she was here. I _spoke_ to her, Saul!" He replied insistently.

"Dreams can feel very real, Son." The old man told him gently. "I had a sister who used to walk around the house at night insisting she was speaking to one of us and _that_ happened under less trying circumstances than these."

"It wasn't a damn dream!" Caleb snapped, louder than he intended.

Saul looked like he wanted to say more but Gray suddenly gave a low groan. They both looked over to see the injured man's blue eyes blinking open to stare around with a glazed, fevered expression. He hadn't made a peep when Caleb almost set him on fire but perked up when he might be missing an important conversation. Typical, Gray.

"Was' happenin'?" He slurred, not completely coherent but cognizant enough to see that something was going down.

"Nothing, Mouth." Saul told him quietly, casting a sidelong glance at Caleb. "Go on back to sleep."

Gray looked as though he didn't much believe them but was too worn down by pain to push the issue. After a few minutes he grumbled some kind of response and closed his eyes again.

"Alright." The old man continued quietly, when Gray's breathing evened out once again, "Calm yourself before you have a conniption."

"Look, I know how it sounds," Caleb groaned, forcibly reining his emotions back in, "but I'm telling you that there was a girl here. I'm not usually this adamant about these kinds of things but when it comes to _her_ I would stake my life on it. She exists and she's alone out there and I don't know what to fucking do about it!"

"Ok, " Saul said patiently, nothing in his voice to indicate that he believed Caleb's assertion but nothing that implied he was merely placating him either.

"Do you know where is she now?" He asked simply.

"If I did do you think I would be over here losing my goddamn mind?" Caleb shot back irritably. The thought of someone hurting her was enough to send him hurtling blindly out into the swamps but as he had no clue where to go, that would be useless.

"Then to my way of thinking, there's not much you can do for her right now." Saul concluded reasonably. "So calm yourself and maybe the three of us can figure this thing out in the morning."

Caleb took a deep breath, which he noisily released as a deep sigh. He knew Saul was right. He certainly wasn't doing himself, or Lyric, any favors by giving himself a heart attack. Seeing no other options, Caleb tried to do as Saul suggested and forced himself to settle down next to Gray. He took several very deep breaths, though they did little to assuage his anxiety. Feeling defeated, he stared broodily into the fire.

"You saw _her_ again didn't you?" Gray's voice suddenly piped up. The man's latent tennessee drawl was normally undetectable unless he was drunk but was decidedly thicker in his new half conscious state. Caleb had forgotten the other man had briefly awoken and wondered now if he had really gone back to sleep at all.

"Yeah," Caleb returned softly.

"You sure you didn't just fall asleep like The Rabbi was sayin'?" Gray suggested reasonably, proving that he had indeed been awake for most of the later portion of their conversation. "Or that it ain't that post battle crazy some soldiers develop?"

Had all the other incidents never occurred, that would have been probable. God knew they had seen enough men lose their minds on the battlefield. It would be easy to assume he was suffering from some kind of 'after battle psychosis' but he knew that all of this was real. Lyric was real. He could feel it in his bones.

"I'm sure." He said back firmly.

Gray was quiet for a long while, leaving Caleb to wonder if he had actually gone back to sleep this time. When he spoke again his voice was thoughtful.

"You think maybe this girl is that 'Alice' you was screaming about the other day?"

Caleb started and blinked down at the other man in surprise, it hadn't occurred to him that Lyric and 'Alice' could be connected in some way. What was it she had asked him?

 _Are you...Uncas, perhaps?_

He hadn't recognized the name nor had he thought to ask her about Alice but he couldn't deny the strangeness of them both searching for someone with these unfamiliar names.

"I don't know," He confessed softly, "I mean, I don't think so. Alice is white, I think...and blonde. I don't see how they could be the same person."

"Oh, that's right. Your dream girls a Nigg-" Caleb cut him off with a growl.

"Finish that sentence and I will break your other leg!" he threatened harshly.

Gray went silent and Caleb could sense Saul staring at him but he wasn't about to correct himself. He might ignore a great deal of Gray's prejudices because he loved the man like a brother but he wasn't going to abide it where Lyric was concerned. Whoever she was, whatever this thing was that was happening between them, he would never, ever, allow that word to be uttered in her presence.

"Jesus, fine!" Gray relented tightly, his face sullen in the low light "No need to be so twitchy about it."

He was twitchy though, and he would be until he found her again. Come first light, he intended to search for Lyric Atabei Harris and when he found her he was going to make damn sure that he was never parted from her again. It was with that thought that a strange pulling sensation tugged in the middle of his chest. It wasn't strong at first, more annoying than anything. He rubbed at it, frowning and wondering if something was caught up under his shirt. Suddenly, the sensation morphed from tugging to jerking and he let out a gasp as it nearly pulled him onto his hands and knees.

"What the hell.." He mumbled, frowning down at his chest and bringing a hand up to pat at the material of his shirt.

"You ok?" Gray asked, eyeing his friend curiously, his brows drawn in.

"I don't know," he replied, frowning, "Something feels... off."

His entire body was humming as though in response to some outside stimuli. That jerking sensation returned, this time with such force that he doubled over.

"Caleb!" Gray cried out, across from them Saul jumped to his feet.

"I'm fine, I'm fine" he told the men as he climbed to his feet and turned, with no real intention to do so, towards the shore. As he did, a deep, familiar voice dropped in his ear. It said only:

 _Go to the river_

It didn't offer more than that but Caleb found himself powerless to disobey. He walked slowly towards the water as though an invisible hand where pressed into the middle of his back. Once he reached it, he stopped on its edge and stared out into the darkness, searching, though for what he didn't know.

"What the hell are you doing?" Gray called out weakly behind him.

Caleb did not answer. After a few moments passed, and no immediate answers became apparent, he squatted on the shore and waited some more. Behind him, his unit mates spoke urgently in low undertones, no doubt questioning his sanity. Hell, even he was questioning it at this point.

He ignored them however, he ignored everything. It seemed forever before _anything_ occurred. Just when Caleb was beginning to think nothing _would_ , his eyes became aware of a shape emerging from out of the darkness.

It was hard to discern at first, just a moving shadows amongst a host of other moving shadows but, as it drew nearer, he was able to make out what looked like two people, pushing a narrow canoe like structure through the water.

As one of the figures stood up, that pulling sensation returned and with it a compulsion to draw the attention of whomever was out there. Jumping to his feet, Caleb began to wave his arms. The boat halted for half a second, as though whoever was driving it were studying him and trying to ascertain his intentions. Then it turned, the figures cutting a slow, but steady, path in his direction.

He called out, waving, and waiting for whoever was in that boat to come to him.

* * *

 **Authors note:**

 **Shit, we're almost there, you guys! I can't believe it took me nearly twenty chapters to get to this point. And we're not even done yet! I know it seems like, with that last Bran bit, that this is the last we're gonna see of Magau but c'mon! We wouldn't have much of a story if I made it THAT easy XD**

 **Besides, I haven't gotten them physically face to face yet. (It's coming though! Next chapter!)**

 **Magua is going to take a little break for several chapters while I get the rest of the characters moving through their interpersonal relationships. (Fox, you're spoiling your own story here!) I've got some things to think through before I bring him back into the fold, namely how I want the Uncas/Alice part of this equation to proceed. Clearly, their main goal was to find each other and they're about to accomplish that so what I need to decide on is how and why the things I have planned are going to occur.**

 **In the mean time we have other things to look forward to. I think we all know what that means...pages and pages of SEXY TIMES! *Throws confetti***

 **Magua: *Wearing a stupid party hat and holding a noise maker* Do I get a stake in these aforementioned sexy times?**

 **Me: uh...no. You're a rapey creep.**

 ***Magua flings the hat to the ground and flips me the bird as he stomps away***

 **(There's a pattern emerging with him, I think)**

 **Anyway, we're hitting the middle part of the story finally. It's also the more complicated section of the narrative for me because we're getting into a boatload of psychology and I feel the need to tread lightly. We have Clarina, who is coming off of a pretty awful sexual assault, and I need to figure out how to maneuver around that.** **Then we have Lyric, who just watched her friend die and feels responsible for it. Finally, we have Gray, whose been spiraling since his wife died and is likely going to lose a leg (More spoilers) and Caleb whose...just happy to be there, I guess? XD**

 **Suffice it to say i'm going to have my work cut out for me with the remainder of this story.**

 **Ok, enough on that! Music time!**

 **For this chapter we have what has become one of my favorite story themes: Beetle by Run River North. Before anyone asks, I honestly have no idea why it's called that. My 6 year old loves this song and asks me about it every time I play it. As there's no mention of beetles in any form anywhere in the song...I got nothing.**

 **Weird titles aside,though, it's a great piece. It puts me in mind of Magua more that Uncas and Alice, probably because he's the more forceful of the three personalities. I can see it playing as Bran is standing at the top of the landing, waiting for the soldiers to come kill him. If I was good at making music videos, this would be a great one. Magua really has become the 'Ghost on top of the hill' as this has gone forward.**

 **Well, my dudes, I think it's time for me to sign off so I can go work on the next chapter of this thing. With any luck I'll get it up soon. It's definitely written but I need to make sure I'm happy with all my dialogue before I shove it out there for public consumption. Thanks once again for sticking with me through my bipolar updating habits. Once we come up on summer and my kid is out of school it's going to get even harder so i'll try my hardest to get the next two chapters out before I disappear into my cave for the next 3 months XD**

 **Happy reading and I will see you all next time!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 21**

* * *

 _Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need_

 _Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why_

 _If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?_

 _If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?_ _-Clarity, Zedd_

* * *

The world felt still as Lyric and Clarina paddled their _Pirogue_ through the dark Bayou, as though everything had melted into nothingness, leaving them as the only two left alive. They had not spoken since their flight from the house, which likely made the call of crickets and frogs that much louder. The racket of cannons had long since ceased, now more a distant memory than the stark reality it had been. They were lost, cast adrift in the foul inkinesss that was the Iberville Parish swamp.

Their silence had initially been a necessity, born out of a fear that the slightest of sounds would alert unseen threats to their location. Now, it seemed they were silent by choice, lost in their own tormented thoughts. Lyric shivered though it was in no way cold, the night air was balmy with thick humidity, promising an uncomfortable day ahead.

She shivered, not from cold, but because she could not dislodge Delphine's face from her memory. She could still see her friend's wide, stunned eyes as she crumbled to the hallway floor. They would be forever burned into her mind, a morbid epitaph that she could neither run from or unsee.

In an attempt to shake off the macabre image, Lyric prodded herself to break the tense silence she and Clarina had enveloped themselves in. She was uncertain words would be welcome, however, as her sister looked severe and unapproachable from her position at the back of the _Pirogue_.

She paddled along mutely, completely unaware of the battle raging within her sibling. Her attention was maniacally focused on nothing more than pushing the small boat forward and her lips, which were normally so sculpted and full were pulled in so hard against her teeth it caused them to vanish entirely. Even the girl's elegant brow was drawn in concentration, creating a great furrow in her otherwise smooth skin.

The pistol she had been carrying now lay forgotten in her lap whereas, initially, she had clung to it as though it were a lifeline. Lyric couldn't blame her, it had saved both of them when Bran had charged... though she couldn't help wondering where her sister had acquired it.

Gods, Clarina's face and body had become a veritable canvas of bruising! Even in the low light, Lyric could make out purple blotches extending from her temple, over her cheekbone, and down to the corner of her lips. There were finger shaped marks gracing her wrist as well, as though someone had grabbed the limb and squeezed impossibly tight. All that bruising, coupled with the torn night dress made it painfully clear she had suffered a marriage bed assault.

"Clarina…?" Lyric began softly, her voice small and hoarse sounding in her ears.

Her sister's eyes darted to hers for the briefest of moments, giving nothing away as to what she might be thinking. They were hollow Jade orbs in her pale face, giving the impression that she was operating solely on instinct and little else.

"Hmmmm?" came her strained reply.

"A-are you-" Lyric wracked her brain for the correct phrasing but came up with a great deal of nothing.

It wasn't that marital rape was an unheard of concept amongst the gentry, there were always whispers from the slaves about some poor girl who had been roughly handled on her wedding night...but this was her sister! She was not some unnamed female that Lyric would never meet or speak to.

It was _Clarina_ who sat bruised and semi-catatonic in the boat behind her, it was _Clarina_ who gripped the oar so tightly her knuckles were turning white. It was an attack that should never have occurred, Lyric seethed inwardly, and it never would have either, had Bran been more in control.

"I'm fine." Clarina interjected flatly, pulling Lyric back from her angry musings.

"But-" she tried again but Clarina cut her off.

"I don't want to discuss it." She said flatly, her tone hard and final.

Lyric shut her mouth and let out a quiet sigh, unable to decide what more to say. Clearly, her sister was unwilling to discuss the matter but the reality of it was going to catch up with her sooner or later.

"Should I say I'm.. sorry... about your-about Lissette?" Lyric asked instead, switching gears to what she hoped would be the less touchy of the two subjects. There was the briefest moment of silence wherein Lyric wondered if her sister would answer and then there came a little sigh from the back of the _Pirogue_.

"I honestly don't know." Clarina said softly.

Lyric was both frustrated and grateful her sister had not expounded on the topic. Frustrated, because she wanted to get her out of her self induced mute state but grateful because she was not sorry about Lady Harris, not truly. The woman had never been anything but unkind to Lyric and her mother. Still, she had been Clarina's only living parent, and whatever their relationship was at the end, her sister had to be feeling something.

The two of them were truly orphans now, she thought sadly. There was no comfort or joy in that fact.

Another stretch of silence ensued as they paddled along with nothing more than the moon to light their way. Lyric didn't know where they were going or what they would do when they got there. Escape had been the order of the moment and now that the sounds of battle were behind them, she wondered how they were supposed to proceed.

Bran had begged her to get Clarina away from Breeze Knolle, and so she had, but where were they supposed to go in the middle of the night, wearing only their night dresses, with no money or prospects? They could go to New Orleans, she reasoned, if they could procure some horses. One of the next youngest Harris daughters resided there and would surely take Clarina in if she were to show up on her doorstep. Maybe Lyric as well, if she were feeling gracious, but there was no guarantee in that regard.

"He called you Moon Hair." Clarina mumbled, pulling Lyrics thoughts back to the present. It was a comment rather than a question, as though she were musing over the subject and had not meant to speak her thoughts aloud.

"Yes," Lyric returned quietly.

"Why?" Clarina asked, sounding for all the world like a lost little girl.

Lyric sighed and tried to think of the best way to approach the topic. It was certainly the opportunity she had been looking for to tell her sister of all the things that had been happening. The problem was that _because_ everything felt so unnatural she didn't quite know how to begin.

"Do you remember the night Bran proposed to you?" Lyric queried, feeling a knot tighten in the center of her chest.

"How could I forget," Clarina replied, her voice tight and bitter, " The whole debacle was handled more like a business arrangement than a formal proposal. He was so cold, calculating even, I thought it was merely the effects of the war but…"

"I spoke to him that night as well," Lyric revealed cautiously, "and I can't explain it entirely but he...I.." She trailed off, suddenly afraid to put words to what she suspected to be true. That whatever was in Bran wanted whomever it was that resided in _her_ and he/it would stop at nothing until he had her.

"The man who...hurt you," she began again, feeling as though using the word 'rape' would be her sisters undoing, "The man who killed your mother, Delphine, Sébastien and Cosette...He is 'other' than the one you married yesterday. Does that make any sense at all?"

"Well, it would have to, wouldn't it?" Clarina shot back tartly. "One doesn't just turn on a dime! They don't give you the most intense experience of your life only to…" She choked off her own words, looking down then away.

"What does it matter," she finished sullenly, "He's gone in any case."

"I don't know what any of it means." Lyric told her with a shake of the head, doubting her sisters assertion of Bran's demise but, as she didn't have an facts to back up the notion, thought it better to keep that fear to herself.

"But I do have to assume it has something to do with these dreams, and Chula, and all the other strange occurrences that have been happening lately." She finished tiredly.

"Chula?" Clarina repeated, confused now, "Who, in god's name, is Chula?"

Lyric could have smacked herself, she had not intended to get into the subject of her soldier just yet. Clarina barely seemed to be able to take in what Bran was (or, more specifically, wasn't) but there was no time for backtracking now. Like it or not, she was going to have to explain all of it.

"What aren't you telling me, Lyric?" Clarina demanded. Even in the darkness, she could feel the girls eyes burning into her.

Once she began, Lyric discovered that the words spilled out rather quickly. She laid everything on the proverbial table, first with the lighthouse dream, then the song, and finally the spells she had performed to try to find answers.

To give Clarina her due, she didn't interrupt. She listened with rapt attention until Lyric finally reached the end of her story. There was a long pause, wherein her sister sat very still with a stunned expression resting on her face. Then her eyes narrowed, filling up with dark, inexplicable anger.

"You let me marry him," she accused in an angry, biting tone of voice, "knowing all this!"

"Would you have believed me if I had told you?" Lyric replied defensively, " and I hardly _let_ you do anything! I warned you that I was uneasy with the union."

"That's not the point, Lyric!" Her sister shot back, her voice taking on a shrill note. "Had I known any of this, I never would have given him the chance to-"

"That is _not_ fair, Clarina, don't you dare put that on me!" Lyric snapped, angry herself now. "I watched my only friend die tonight! I got her killed and I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. I refuse to take the blame for the actions of that...that _madman_.. as well!"

Tears welled up in her chest at the loss of Delphine and it was only anger that kept them at bay. The girl had always been there, as long as Lyric could remember. Isadora had brought her into their quarters when she was little more than nine years old. Delphine had been chosen, not only as a servant, but also as a friend and companion. There would always be a hole in her life in the shape of the girl, a silent ghost at the table whom she could no longer converse with.

During that brief, anger fueled pause, the two women glared at one another from opposite ends of the _Pirogue_. It seemed as though neither was going to back down before Clarina's face shifted from it's angry, accusatory mask to one of intense remorse. She let out a gasp, covering her mouth with one hand and looking, for all the world, utterly contrite.

"Dear god, Lyric...I'm so sorry!" She moaned, her voice muffled behind her palm. "I'm an utter mess right but that does not give me the right to take it out on you! Please say you'll forgive me!"

A part of Lyric would have liked to hold onto the anger and defensiveness a while longer, as though it would protect her like a coat of armor, but she couldn't do so in the face of her sisters obvious agony. Neither of them was at their best but that was no excuse to start sniping at one another either.

"It's fine," she returned tightly, even though it was not and might never be, "It's not as though either of us is at our best at the moment."

She was trying to be understanding, to convince herself that their exchange was the result of nothing more than shock and intense stress but Clarina's accusation had wounded her deeply. As though realizing this, her sister reached out a gentle hand and laid it comfortingly in the middle of her back.

"It wasn't your fault, you know," Clarina told her kindly, "What happened to Delphine.. and..."

She might have added 'and I' to the end of that statement but Lyric never gave her the chance. She shrugged her shoulders in an attempt to shake the hand off and refused to look at her.

"I don't want to talk about it." She muttered, petulantly throwing Clarina's earlier sentiment back at her. Awkwardly, Clarina curled her fingers in and slowly removed her hand. Sighing, she sat back.

"So you really spoke to him, this Chula of yours?" she queried tiredly a few seconds later.

"I did." Lyric returned. "He's somewhere out here in the Bayou with two other men. One of whom is quite badly injured."

Lyric cast her eyes out over the water and tried to bury the harsh words of their argument. They lingered in the air like a tangible thing and try as she might, she could not bat them away.

"Forgive me, but this all sounds so... utterly fantastical." Clarina commented in a careful, but nonetheless doubtful, tone of voice.

"You think I don't know that, that I haven't struggled with this over the last few weeks?" Lyric bit out irritably.

"You're certain you didn't just dream him up, this soldier of yours?" Clarina asked. There was no judgement in her voice now, merely curiosity.

"He was as real to me as my own body." Lyric declared firmly, "If I were blind I would know who he is."

Again, a beat of silence before Clarina spoke once more.

"Lyric, are you…" Clarina trailed off as though she were afraid to finish that thought.

She didn't need to, Lyric knew what she wanted to ask. The answer was yes, she was in love with him. She loved him with every fiber of her being and she had never once touched him nor talked with him in person. She had spoken to him only in dreams. It was insanity but it was heart wrenchingly real.

From out of nowhere, a sudden and inexplicable tugging began in the center of her chest. She gasped, looking down as her hand came up to land over her heart. It gave a great, uneven thump causing her to draw in a sharp breath.

"What is it?" Clarina asked, her voice concerned now. "What's wrong?"

"Something… is happening." She muttered back.

She couldn't describe it, not clearly. It was as though her entire body were humming. As though it had become a tuning fork that was responding to the call of something off in the distance.

Glancing up, Lyric squinted into the dark, seeing nothing to account for the bizarre reverberation. Frowning, she took up her paddle and began to pull the _Pirogue_ quickly in an easterly direction.

"What are you doing?" Clarina asked, bewildered by the impromptu change in direction.

Lyric didn't answer, instead she rowed for all she was worth.

Soon, she was able to discern a faint glow in the trees some ways up ahead. The more logical side of her brain warned her to exercise more caution but she wasn't in the frame of mind to exercise any of the kind she would normally employ.

Her paddle made a soft splash as she propelled the _Pirogue_ towards the glow of a campfire. As they drew nearer, Lyric could make out a figure crouching at the water's edge. The figure stood as the _Pirogue_ came into view, waving its arms and calling out as though trying to get her attention.

"Is there a person over there?" Clarina asked lowly, craning her neck to see. She was unable to see much around her sister, who had climbed to her feet in small boat. She let out a yelp as the boat gave an unsteady wobble.

As they drifted ever closer, the tugging in Lyric's chest grow stronger. It was a compulsion, a necessity, that she go to the person waving from the shore. It was so overwhelming that, the very second she thought they might be in shallow enough water, she climbed overboard. Clarina gave a great cry of alarm as Lyric's feet sank in the silty bottom.

"Lyric, what are you doing?" She cried out incredulously. "There could be Gators, are you insane!?"

Lyric could have cared less about Gators, or anything else for that matter, the water could have been crawling with them and she still would have stepped into it. Not understanding what compelled her to do so, she made her way towards the person on shore. The stranger, in turn, came out to meet her.

They closed the distance somewhere in the middle with Clarina cursing in irritation as she tried to row the boat forward on her own. Lyric was aware of gentle splashing as her sister attempted, in vain, to drag the boat as far inland as she could before being forced to abandon it.

' _Saints above,_ _it's him._ ' Lyric thought, pressing a hand to her lips as Chula's form slowly came into view. He emerged out of the darkness like a dream brought to life, stopping a pace or two before reaching her. His eyes, those beautiful brown eyes with their flecks of gold, swept over her and pinned her where she stood.

"Is it you?" she whispered, lowering the hand from her mouth to let it hover between them. "Or am I dreaming once again?"

"Lyric?" Clarina said questioningly as she made her way over. "Who is this person, do you know him?"

How could she explain that which defied logic? How could she explain that, though she had not 'physically' met him before this moment, that she could feel the vibration of his very presence. It moved under her skin, growing stronger the closer she was to him. He stared back at her as though he felt it too.

Lyric reached out slowly, her hand hovering over his chest. She was afraid to touch him, afraid that the moment she did he would vanish once again. As though sensing her trepidation, Chula reached out to grasp her hand, pulling it forward and pressing her palm firmly over his heart. That contact, that moment of physical touch, sent a shock wave through both of them.

Images flew through Lyric's mind faster than she could grasp them; She saw Chula, though not as he was now, sending away a group of horses with a sharp 'Hyah!' She ran at him, this lean man in the purple shirt with the impossibly long hair, crying out that they 'needed them to get away!' This other version of him caught her up, holding her in arms that were tattooed all up the forearms. He held her in place, staring down into her eyes from a great height. All that raven black hair of his tumbled over his shoulder to tickle her cheek.

The world swam in a wash of color and suddenly she was somewhere else. She was aware of that same long haired man, though she was no longer in his arms. He was watching...no, _staring,_ at her from a distance. She tried pretend that she wasn't watching him as he watched her, tried to pretend she wasn't acutely aware of those dark eyes that seemed to watch every move she made. She both wanted to command him to stop yet relished his gaze on her, a fact that she was trying desperately to ignore.

Suddenly, everything shifted a third time and Lyric found herself in an enclosed, smokey room. That same raven haired man had her locked in an embrace, his lips moving hotly against her own. She could feel his long fingers against the curve of her spine and the long, solid length of his body where it pressed up against hers. His tongue pushed gently, but insistently, against her lips, seeking entry. As she opened her mouth to welcome it the world spun on its axis.

"Lyric!" Clarina was crying out.

To her, the entire scene must have looked insane! To herself and Chula it was more akin to being struck by a great bolt of lightning. It ripped through the two them, causing their limbs quiver and shake as though they were in the midst of a shared fit.

Lyric felt her heart beat in time with his. When his heart gave a thump, hers answered. When her lungs inflated with air, he exhaled. She felt his blood rushing through his veins as clearly as her own. It was more intimate than anything she had ever shared with another living person.

The visions continued for only half a second more before dissipating in a cloud of smoke, the other version of Chula washing away as though he had never been there at all. As suddenly as the moment began, it was over, leaving Lyric weak and lightheaded in its wake. She was sagging, listing to one side, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Her knees buckled and she fell. Chula, too, was falling, listing to the left as she went to the right. The last thing she was aware of before the world went dark was Clarina's cry of alarm and the splash of two bodies hitting water.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **How's that for a first meeting? Both parties were so overcome with emotion that they just up and fainted! XD**

 **If anyone remembers the meeting from the original story it was only Lyric that passed out.. but I felt like, for this version, it makes sense that both of them would be overwhelmed. I know you've all been waiting with baited breath for this moment so.. here it is in all its dramatic, collapsing into stagnant water, glory!**

 **This has to be one of the earliest parts I worked on too, aside from the battlefield vision chapter (Chapter 8, I think?). Waaaaaaay back in the planning process I started pulling bits of text from my original story and then razing it for what I wanted to keep. I think I only ended up keeping the fainting at the end of this but tweaked it so Caleb goes under too. Unfortunately, though, you're all gonna have to wait until the next chapter to get all the conversing bits, sorry about that. XD**

 **The good news for the next chapter though, is that I _should_ be able to get it up before summer break hits. That way you guys aren't sitting around all summer wondering if Lyric and Caleb are drowning while I entertain my 6 year old at the pool. (I promise you, they aren't! XD). I just need to devote some time to it and make sure i'm happy with all my dialogue before I deem it ready for public consumption. I also hope the summer will serve to help me figure out some later chapter stuff. As I said, I razed the old story and there's still some things from it that I want to keep but I have to decide what form they're going to take.**

 **Ok, enough of that, onto the song...** **I ended up using what _I_ consider to be the Main Theme for Mine ...though in this case its the more Acoustic version sung by Foxes. I think I mentioned this back in the chapter that had Salvation (by Gabrielle Aplin) as the theme but I really hate doubling up on songs between story playlists. Unfortunately, it's sometimes unavoidable, especially when you try out other things and they just doesn't do it for you.**

 **I have this entire chapter choreographed to this particular version of Clarity, I can tell you exactly what line goes with which paragraph (Example: The part where Caleb grabs her hand is lined up with where the music speeds up again and the bit where they collapse lines up with the last line of 'why are you my Clarity'). Perhaps there will come a day where I have a playlist that this song _doesn't_ make an appearance but today is not that day lol**

 **Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! I have been looking forward to this from the beginning! Now I just have to get us over into Caleb's POV so we all know what he's thinking and feeling during this whole thing. Like I said, I will attempt to get that up in the next few weeks.**

 **Thank you all for reading and reviewing and I will see you all again soon!~~~~~~~3**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 22**

* * *

 _Where were you when I was lonesome,_

 _Locked away in this freezing cold,_

 _Someone flying, only stolen,_

 _I can't tell, this nights so old-When its cold I like to die, Moby_

* * *

"You stay away from me!" An angry voice cried out, the hollow, warped sound of it barreling through Caleb's consciousness.

His eyes snapped open. Confusedly, he squinted at the sea of stars that were floating above him, glittering through trees hung heavy with Spanish Moss. The tendrils blew gently in the slight breeze, putting him in mind of hair. They draped like garland, as though a woman had deliberately lopped off her locks only to throw them up into the trees and leave them behind. He narrowed his eyes at the picture they painted, unsure of where he was or even how he had come to be there.

"Young lady," a muffled, discordant male voice was replying, "I can assure you I am no threat to you."

By degrees, Caleb became aware of how cold and sodden his clothes were, of the shirt that stuck wetly to his skin and the trousers that were heavy and uncomfortable against his legs. He was confused as well by the rough texture of sand that scratched against the back of his neck. It was clotted into his hair, making his scalp wound sting and itch.

"Well, you'll forgive me if I don't much believe that!" A female voice spat back sarcastically.

How had he come to be here, where was he that he should awaken damp and staring up at a foreign sky? _Louisiana_ , his muddled brain finally supplied. He was in Louisiana! More specifically, he was in a swamp, where the air was thick with humidity and the smell of wet wood and rotting vegetation. He wrinkled his nose against the odor, groaning, as those dim voices rang out in the night air. Two people were conversing nearby... no, not conversing... shouting?

"Listen," an older, hoarse sounding voice was pleading, "You have the advantage here, alright? You have the power. My shoulder is injured so I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to."

At least he thought they had been shouting, it was hard to be certain when everything had such a muffled and tinny quality to it. One of the voices was decidedly female and, whomever she was, she sounded furious.

"You just stay away!" The feminine voice commanded once again.

Even through the cotton clogging his ears, Caleb could discern a cultured southern drawl. Whomever she was, she spoke with the arrogance and diction of the upper class. A familiar clicking sound followed the command, the lock being pulled back on a revolver.

Caleb frowned and managed to flop himself over onto one side, his body heavy with lethargy and the wet clothes likely making him resemble a flopping fish more than someone who was slowly coming back to consciousness. Luckily for him, the source of the confrontation didn't appear to notice.

He discovered two people, a man and a woman, standing a few yards off to his right. One of them, a brown haired female, was pointing a cylindrical object at an older gentleman. For some bizarre reason, the woman was clothed in little more than a white dressing gown. Actually, calling it a 'gown' was be stretching things a bit as it was more akin to a dirty, torn, rag.

It hung off her slender frame dismally, the front torn down the middle. Even from his prone position, Caleb could clearly discern a pale breast peeking out against the frayed fabric. He looked away in a rush of embarrassment, focusing instead on the object she pointed at the older man.

His brain might still be slow on the uptake, but he quickly ascertained that the object was a Colt Navy revolver which was standard issue a few years back. The woman's hand was not steady where she held it, in fact it trembled visibly, the barrel shifting minutely back and forth. If she fired the thing now, the shot would likely go wild and miss her target by a large margin. How odd, Caleb thought, that she held the gun as though it were not unfamiliar yet her arm was in no way steady. He wondered if she were just simply loathe to use it.

The man she held it on had one hand stretched out before him, a silent plead for her to be sensible. There didn't seem to be any sensibility left in her, however, as her expression and posture were severe. When she finally spoke again she did so through clenched teeth.

"What happened to you?" She demanded lowly. Her tone had quieted some, losing a bit of that hysterical trill but she showed no signs of lowering the weapon.

Caleb noted that bruises lined the woman's temple, gliding in an uneven line over her high cheekbone. They didn't stop until near the corner of her lips and he had to wonder how she had come to be so roughed up. Had the older man done it? No, that didn't feel right.

"I was in a battle," the older gentleman explained, "We all were. My unconscious friend there was nearly killed by a cannonball and our other comrade...well...he's in dire need of a doctor. Believe me when I tell you that we are the least threat you could possibly encounter right now."

Saul, the man's name was Saul, Caleb recalled slowly. They had been traveling together since the scrimmage and the other man he spoke of, the injured one, was Gray, his childhood friend. This woman, however, was a stranger to his swiss-cheesed memory. He was fairly certain she wasn't part of their strange little trio. Where in the hell had she come from?

"How does he know my sister?" The dark haired woman demanded, gesturing with her head towards Caleb but not turning to look at him.

"You would have to ask him that" Saul returned, taking a slow, hesitant step closer to her.

The word 'sister', caused recollection to flood in faster. An image of Lyric, the girl with the golden eyes, flashed quickly through Caleb's mind. She had arrived via a boat of some sort, and had come out to meet him in the water. He had caught up her hand and then...something utterly strange had occurred.

It had been like being struck by lightning and brought back to life all in an instant, something more intimate than sex and yet more profound than faith had passed through both of them. It had brought with it a barrage of images from another time and place.

He had seen her, not as she was now, but as a woman of small stature with white/blonde hair. There had been a memory of...himself...or rather some other version of himself, sending a group of horses away because they would be too easy to track. Then this 'not Lyric' had rushed him, exclaiming they 'needed them to get away'. He had caught her up, with no intention other than keeping her from running headlong into the forest, and been immediately arrested by her sky blue of her eyes. They had been so big and clear in her pale face...he had never seen eyes such as hers before.

Then the image had warped, running like water thrown on paint, and he had found himself watching the pale girl from a distance. He had been amazed that someone could be so out of place yet so still in the face of danger. He had been impressed by her fortitude, it was more than he expected from someone who had clearly never spent more than a few hours outside of a sitting room. He had wanted her to look at him, had wanted those blue eyes to seek him out. She started to turn and then...it had all changed again.

The final image had been perhaps the most intimate. He had found himself in a small, cramped hallway made of roughly hewn logs. It had been dusty and hot, stinking of sawdust and sweat, yet that same blonde woman had been pressed tightly against him. He could feel the damp fabric of her dress where it was pressed under his fingers. He could feel the heat of her skin as he lowered his head to capture those pink lips. Her kiss had set a fire in him that only she could quench and when she opened her mouth to receive his tongue it had been his undoing.

Caleb could not account for these memories because they were not his own. They belonged to people who no longer existed. Their departure had left him weak and he had collapsed not long after that last, heat filled vision.

"Why did they faint like that," the bruised girl was demanding, her pistol arm shaking even more visibly now, "What in god's name is going on here?"

Caleb pushed himself into a sitting position, which turned out to be a giant mistake. His head swam at the sudden motion and he groaned, grabbing it as the dark haired woman let out an audible gasp. He was vaguely aware of her taking half a step backwards, of Saul moving in to quickly pull the pistol from her loose grip. She let out a cry of complaint but Caleb ignored both of them as he waited for the dizziness to pass. When it did, he glanced wildly around to try and locate the other person in this bizarre equation.

He didn't have to search for long, she rested just a few yards away. She was impossibly still, only the rise and fall of her chest giving any indication that she still lived. One of her hands rested against her cheek, the fingers lightly curled in against her palm. All that dark hair was spread beneath her head like a pillow and Caleb half crawled/half ran to reach her side, taking up the hand curled by her face. With the other he pushed some stray, damp curls off of her forehead.

"How long were we out?" He barked anxiously.

"What are you-what do you think you're doing!?" The woman sputtered, indignant anger coming to color what was an admittedly lovely face.

Caleb didn't grace her question with an explanation.

"How fucking long!?" He repeated impatiently.

"I...I don't know," she stuttered, momentarily frozen in the face of his intensity, "perhaps five minutes or so?"

She seemed puzzled by what was happening and, had his girl not been lying unconscious before him he might have been able to appreciate how utterly bizarre this whole thing was from her perspective. As it was, he couldn't care less what she thought.

 _Five_ _minutes_ , he repeated to himself, and he had woken up what... two minutes ago? That meant Lyric would likely be coming around soon as well.

" _Lahollo_ ," he murmured, gently stroking her cheek with his free hand, "Come back to me, _Lahollo_."

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?!" The bruised woman suddenly snapped, recovering from her initial shock with a new wave of anger.

"Get the hell away from her!" She hissed and stomped over in less than five steps. She grabbed Caleb roughly by the back of his shirt and made to pull him away. He batted her grasping hands from him, glaring at her as he did so.

"Ma'am, if you don't get your hands offa me, we're gonna have a serious disagreement!" He warned as she maneuvered take a hold of his shirt once again.

"If you don't get your damn hands of my sister then we're going to have an even bigger one!" She retorted just as harshly.

It was in that moment that Lyric made an 'Mmmm' sound low in her throat.

They both both went still, Caleb brushing the woman off as he leaned over to peer into Lyric's face. He watched her eyebrow lift and draw in again before those beautiful eyes fluttered open to blink at him. The relief he felt was both palpable and confusing as she swallowed audibly and smiled at him.

"Your eyes…" she began, her voice cracking with the sudden onset of emotion. "They're still the color of the forest in autumn..."

"And yours are gold now," He responded, his voice breathless sounding in his ears, " though once they were as blue and open as a spring sky..."

It was startling to hear these words tumbling out of his mouth. He had no point of reference for _where_ they were coming from. Since he had 'met' her her eyes had only ever been golden, yet he knew implicitly that they had not always been thus. She shut them again for the briefest of moments, taking a deep breath as though to ground herself.

" Your face may have changed but..." here she paused, opening her eyes again as they settled on his in a soul searching stare, "they're still just as clear, still just as warm and inviting as you are."

There was a pregnant pause. Caleb smiled joyfully and took her face in his hands. Part of him wanted to weep with relief at finally finding her at last. The other wanted to kiss her until they were both senseless. Lyric lifted her hands to grip his wrists in a weak embrace, letting out a quiet, laughing little sob. Had they been alone, he might have given in to his urge to kiss her but, as it was, he had to be content with that moment of connectedness. It only took another heart beat or two for the angry, bruised woman to recover from her shock. When she did, she all but shoved Caleb out of the way.

"My god, Lyric!" She exclaimed, muscling him to one side. She knelt next to her sister and peered anxiously into her face.

"Are you alright?" She continued worriedly.

Lyric's hands lingered in the air where his had been, her fingers twitching as though still reaching out for him. It was the other girl who reached for her now, clutching one of those dark hands and holding it between her own.

"I-I'm... fine... Clarina" Lyric mumbled, uncertainly.

The woman called Clarina helped guide her up into a sitting position, dusting her off as she did so.

"I'm fine." She repeated dazedly, as though to convince herself more than anyone else.

"Whatever were you thinking, huh?" Clarina demanded then, chastising her quietly whilst still continuing to check her for injuries. "Running out of the boat like that!"

 _She's like an irate mother hen_ , Caleb thought irritably, _clucking around as though all this noise will somehow keep them safe._

"We don't know these men from Adam," she continued irately, "You could have been killed!"

"He would never hurt me." Lyric murmured back, her voice still dazed as she lifted her eyes to lock them solidly on Caleb's.

"Oh really? And you know this how?" Clarina demanded, sounding more than just a little put out.

"Because it's true." Caleb interjected firmly.

Clarina started and looked over her shoulder at him, stunned, as though she had momentarily forgotten he was present.

"I'd die first." He added quietly.

There was a beat of awkward silence as these words sank in.

" _Ahem_...well…" Clarina coughed when she couldn't take the tension anymore, "Let's _uh_... see if we can't get you on your feet, hmmm?

She helped Lyric up with a hand on her elbow and the other on her back but, once upright, the dazed girl only managed two steps before her legs buckled underneath her. Caleb moved in swiftly, catching her before she could hit the ground.

"I've got you," he murmured quietly. "I've got you."

Once again, they found themselves face to face. Their breath hitched at the sudden closeness. Lyric's long, slender fingers tightened reflexively against his shoulders and his heartbeat drummed loudly in his ears. No one seemed to know what to do or say, least of all himself and her. It was Saul who was ultimately forced to break the silence. He cleared his throat with an awkward sort of cough.

" _Ahem_ , I think Caleb has this covered, Ma'am." He commented wryly. Clarina said nothing, merely stared between them as though they had lost their minds.

"You _uh_...said you were a nurse, right?" Saul continued, "Do you think you could have a look at our friend? He…" The old man's voice trailed off as he ushered Clarina away. Caleb didn't look up to see them go, didn't even look over to see what was happening. All he needed was right there in his arms.

"Are you alright?" He asked her worriedly, searching her face for any signs that she might faint again.

Lyric swallowed, nodding, before gently extricating herself from his embrace. He let her go grudgingly, stepping back only when he was certain she was steady once more. He still maintained a grip on her elbows however, incapable it seemed, of fully relinquishing her.

" _Mesi_." She whispered back.

There was so much to say and yet no words. It felt as though they had spent so much time t _rying_ to find one another, now that they were here, they couldn't find their tongues.

"I _um_.." she stammered. "I.."

She shook her head, face flushing, as she straightened her spin and stepped back from him only to dip into the most formal of curtsies.

"I cannot tell you how pleased I am to meet you." She said in a rush.

The gesture was so formal and unexpected that for a few seconds Caleb could only stare, then blink, before letting out a bark of choked laughter.

"You're pleased to..." he tried to repeat her words but found he was laughing too much to achieve it.

"After all that, you're _pleased_ to meet me'?" he pushed out between bouts of barely contained mirth.

Her face darkened as she righted herself, nervously she pushed a stray curl out of her eyes. Looking down and away, she was the very picture of embarrassment.

"Forgive me," she begged, quietly. "I do not...I do not know _how_ to do this."

"What, greet the person you've been sharing dreams with and ended up passing out in a lake with?" He countered, laughing all over again.

As he watched, the corners of her mouth twitched, then she allowed them to rise in a bright smile. A melodic sound bubbled out of her and she tried to hide it behind her palm.

"I suppose there are no instructions for this sort of thing, is there?" She said, her amused voice muffled behind her hand.

"No, no, I don't think there is." He replied, mopping at his streaming eyes with his fingers.

"It _is_ true though," she told him when the humor of the moment finally ebbed, her voice was serious as she lowered her hand from her mouth, "I _have_ been waiting a very long time to meet you."

A tender smile came to warm Caleb's face and he reached out to cup her cheek in his palm, stroking a gentle thumb along her cheekbone. She issued a sharp intake of breath but made no move to step away from him.

"We're a pair, aren't we?" He murmured softly.

She studied him quietly, clearly taken aback by the intimacy of the moment. She blinked, her mouth working as though she wanted to construct some kind of reply but whatever she might have said was lost in a sudden, abrupt, shout from over by the campfire.

"You stay the hell away!" Gray was shouting angrily.

"What the hell…" Caleb swore under his breath. He peered around Lyric to see his friend attempting, albeit feebly, to back away from Clarina. He kicked at her weakly, his uninjured foot pinwheeling as she attempted to stay well out of its way.

"You stay back!" He commanded warningly.

"Mouth, she's a nurse," Saul was saying gently in an attempt to calm the incensed man, "She's here to help!"

"'Like hell she is!" The injured man shot back nastily.

"Jesus christ!" Caleb mumbled, rolling his eyes as he hurried around Lyric to see what exactly had gotten his friend so riled up.

He made his way over, with Lyric quickly bringing up the rear. When Gray caught sight of him, his eyes looked ready to jump out of his skull. They were glazed and fever bright in his flushed face and the expression he turned on to Caleb was one of panic induced rage.

"Don't you let her touch me, Caleb," Gray continued stubbornly. "I won't have it!"

Puzzled, Caleb knelt down next to his friend and tried to figure out what the hell was happening. Gray glared at Clarina as though she were some demon sent from hell to destroy him. The dark haired woman, for her part, looked utterly baffled.

"Gray, she's not going to hurt you," Caleb told him calmly. "She's just wants to have a look at your leg."

Gray shook his head as though Caleb had told him she was there to cut it off with a rusty razor blade. His gaze darted between all of them like they were his mortal enemies, monsters preparing to haul him to the ground while Clarina did her dirty deed. It was only when he caught sight of Lyric, who had wandered over to stand hesitantly behind Caleb, that he stilled.

"Who the fuck are you?" He demanded, pulled out of his anger and thrown instead into confusion.

"I'm.. _um_...Lyric." She replied, looking uncertain.

"What kinda name is Lyric?" Gray shot back lowly. Lyric looked to Caleb for help and he sighed audibly before turning his eyes to Clarina.

"He's been having some hallucinations the past few days. I don't know who he thinks you are right now."

"She's a devil woman is what she is!" Gray snapped, finding his hysteria once again. " And I ain't hallucinatin' neither! She's here to take me the way that damn midwife took my Anna!"

"I can assure you that I am here to do no such thing," Clarina informed him in a terse tone, "as you can see, I haven't the means to take anyone anywhere."

"Nah, I know your kind," Gray spat back, "Vultures, the whole lot of you!"

Clarina pinched the skin between her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, as though she were fighting for patience. Clearly, she was not unaccustomed to dealing with unruly patients but Caleb knew Gray could start an argument in an empty room. After a few seconds of aggravated silence, she lifted her eyes to Grays once more.

"Listen, _sir_ ," she began flatly, making 'sir' sound like a dirty word, "I don't give a rats ass if you trust me or not. What I can tell you is, from what little I see of that leg...it does _not_ look good! Either you let me examine it...quietly...or I'll have these two strip you down to your birthday suit. What's it going to be?"

Gray looked taken aback by her assertiveness. Caleb didn't know what it was he expected but certainly not that this dark haired young woman would stand up to him. It reminded him, in a small way, of when Gray had first taken up with Anna Marie.

In particular, of the night he had stumbled in late from the saloon and tried to get Anna to lay with him. If there was one thing Anna Marie couldn't abide, it had been a lusty drunk. Caleb could still see her standing over Gray, all that blonde hair flying and her face fierce, after she had punched him in the nose.

 _Touch me with those boozy hands again, Grayson Tucker, and I will feed you your own balls!_ She had warned.

Back in the present, Clarina glared at him in a similar manner before the corners of Gray's lips began twitching. A half a second later he was laughing and grinning at her with his customary, arrogant charm.

"Well, damn, sweetheart," he drawled, that incessant ego of his winning out over childish petulance, "If you wanted to get my pants off, all you had to do was ask."

Clarina rolled her eyes let out a derisive snort.

"Oh indeed," she muttered back scathingly, "all I want in all the world is to get into your knickers!"

Without preamble, she reached down and tugged the sodden bandages aside, no doubt harsher than was necessary. As she peered closely at the wound, a strong smell issued up from it. A pungent odor, like meat left too long in the sun. Caleb gagged, covering his mouth, but Clarina seemed unfazed by it. After a moment of intense scrutiny she released the wrappings and turned her jade stare in Caleb's direction.

"There's already signs of gangrene," she informed him darkly, "even if we had a doctor present, I'm not certain he would be able to keep the foot."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here." Gray muttered sullenly.

"What can we do?" Caleb asked softly, ignoring his friend's petulance to focus on the more pressing matter at hand.

"Well, I could cut away some of the dead tissue," she suggested, her eyes darting to the left thoughtfully, "but I fear the necrosis is already spreading through the limb. The solution would be a temporary one at best."

"You can do that?" He asked, laying a hand over Lyrics, which had fallen comfortingly on his shoulder. He squeezed her fingers gratefully as Clarina pulled in the side of her cheek nervously.

"I can... but it will be incredibly painful without the aid of laudanum." She warned. "Also, I don't have any bromide with which to pack into the wound so the risk of infection is still rather high."

Caleb glanced over at his friend, who had taken to shaking his head and mumbling to himself. If he hadn't been lost in fever induced visions before, he certainly was now.

"What happens if we leave it as is?" He asked her uncertainly.

"Possibly nothing," Clarina replied, "but his fever could increase to such a degree that it kills him before we _can_ find a doctor. Cutting away the infected tissue might give him a fighting chance. Ultimately, it's up to you."

Caleb released a quiet sigh and cast his eyes over to Saul, who shook his head as if to say 'I got nothing, kid'. He hated that this decision was falling to him. Still, someone was going to have to make it and he supposed he was as good as anyone to do so. Tightly, grudgingly, he nodded.

"What do you need?" He asked her resignedly.

"Any knife will do," Clarina said, shrugging " though smaller _is_ better."

Caleb reached for his belt and removed the Union issue Bowie he carried. Silently, he handed it over to Clarina who studied the surface in the fire light.

"I'll need to sterilize this, there's no point in doing this procedure only to have him die of sepsis," she said more to herself than any of them, "do you have anything for boiling water?" This next question was posed to Saul.

Silently, the old man walked over to the sack they had commandeered from the dead soldier and pulled out the cooking pail they had been using to boil their water. He handed it over to Clarina, who studied for a moment before nodding. She carried it to the other side of the fire and set about preparing. While she busied herself with that, Caleb turned his attention back to his friend,

"Gray?" He said quietly.

The man did not answer, he was still mumbling to himself and staring off into space. It took several tries before he finally got the man to look at him.

"I _uh_...want you to meet someone." He said, smiling a little nervously.

With a gentle tug, he pulled Lyric down until she was kneeling beside him. She smoothed the night dress under her and graced Gray with a shy sort of smile.

" _Bonjou, Mosye._ " she greeted in soft Creole, bowing her head slightly to him.

Gray stared at her without comment, studying her from head to..well..knees, before settling his eyes on her face once again.

"So you're the one he won't shut up about," he commented weakly, "the one that speaks Cornish."

"Cornish? " she repeated confusedly. "Oh, you mean the lullabye!" Here she laughed, gracing them with that marvelous sound once more.

"You overestimate my abilities, _Mosye,_ I merely repeated a tune that I could not dislodge from my mind, I don't even know what the words mean."

"Well, if it was stuck in your head then it was stuck in his too. Hopefully you can carry a tune better than Caleb here, cause he's been butchering it for days."

Lyric looked unsure of how to respond when Gray suddenly smiled at her.

"You're a lot prettier than I expected." He complimented wryly.

At that Lyric blushed and Gray let out a weak laugh.

"My attempts at flattery must be rusty. It's a compliment, sweetheart."

"I..well..it's…" she stammered and seemed unable to form a response.

"What's she doin' over there anyway?" Gray suddenly asked, saving Lyric from having to form _any_ reply to his bungled compliment. She glanced over at Clarina, who had just filled the pail with water and was settling it to hang on a branch set over the fire.

"I believe she is deciding how best to treat your wound." Lyric told him a few seconds later. "You could not be in better hands."

"Yeah, well, I don't put much stock in the abilities of a broad who looks like a stiff breeze could knock her over." He returned rudely.

"I will thank you to be more polite to my sister, sir." Lyric told him tersely. "You don't have to trust her but you do need to respect that she's under no obligation to help you. She's doing so out of sympathy and kindness and you would do well to remember it!"

Gray looked as though he wanted to say something harsh in reply but could not form a coherent argument. Instead, he shut his mouth and mumbled something neither of them could make out. Lyric regarded him sternly for a few seconds longer before turning her attention to Caleb once more.

"Something will have to be done to keep him quiet while Clarina does this procedure," she warned in an undertone. "I do not know how far we are from Breeze Knolle but there were many enemy soldiers when we escaped. His cries might draw unwanted attention."

"Enemy soldiers?" Caleb repeated.

"Yes, they attacked the plantation earlier, it's why I had to...why I left." She stuttered, her voice rendered sad and her gaze suddenly becoming distant, as though remembering something unpleasant.

"What happened before you arrived here, _Lahollo_?" He asked quickly. "Tell me?"

Could it have been their regiment? If so, and they reached them before they moved on again, Gray might be able to benefit from the expertise of an army doctor.

Lyric's explanation was quick and to the point, detailing how some confederate soldiers, wedding guests of Clarina's, had invaded the slave quarters. She told how they had narrowly escaped the fire racing through the quarter and how Clarina's new (and now apparently deceased) husband had held them at gunpoint before inexplicably changing his tune and allowing them to escape. Her face was drawn as she talked of the murder of her friend, her eyes lowering to stare at the hands that rested meekly in her lap.

"Did this 'Bran' hurt you in any way?" Caleb growled, his mood clouding with anger at the thought of what could have happened. He swore, if the man had touched her in _any_ way, he would find a way to kill him all over again.

" _Non,_ " she answered quietly, shaking her head, though her eyes darted over to her sister before lowering sadly to her lap once again.

"Not me in any case." She finished sadly.

He realized, then, why the dark haired woman looked so roughed up and had been so prickly since she arrived. His heart sank and he felt a rush of guilt for all the irritation he had felt towards her. No one deserved to be violated like that, and most especially not on their wedding night. He was going to have to endeavor to talk more kindly to her from here on out.

His golden eyed girl was forlorn when he turned his attention back to her, lost in the memory of all that had transpired. He reached out to lift her face back up, his thumb resting under her chin as he made her look at him.

"You're safe now," he promised her softly, "nothing and no one will hurt you while I'm still breathing."

"Chula…" she breathed his name out like a prayer.

They had another moment of connectedness before she went still, some thought inexplicably occurring to her. Looking off in the distance for a moment, Lyric climbed determinedly to her feet.

"What, what is it?" Caleb asked as she walked briskly over to a nearby tree.

"I think I know what will help keep him quiet." She called back.

As he watched, she bent over and began searching near the base of the tree. With a quiet exclamation of success, she began dragging her long fingers swiftly through the loose soil. With a grunt, she righted and pulled up what looked like to be a weed. It resembles a dandelion stalk but was much bigger, with long oval leaves that had ragged edges.

"You're gonna help Gray by...gardening?" Caleb queried, not following, as she carried the plant back towards the fire.

" _Manman_ called this 'Opium Lettuce'," she explained as she knelt next to him and began to pull off little bits of the leaf, shredding them and collecting the parts in her lap,"if prepared properly, it acts as a rather potent sedative."

The whole process took her about ten minutes but when she was finished there was a decent pile of green resting in the middle of her skirt.

"What happens now?" Caleb asked as she ran a hand across her sweaty brow.

"We boil it, and then remove the leaves and strain the juice." She explained. Then she frowned. "Do any of you have a cup?" She asked. It was who Saul came to the rescue once again.

"I do, though it's dented all to hell." He warned as he produced, from his belt, a horribly misshapen metal object. It had once been a tin cup but, as he had landed on it sometime during the last battle, it was now a nondescript, dented cylinder.

"It will have to do." Lyric murmured as she took the pro-offered cup and carried her skirt full of leaves around to the other side of the fire.

Clarina was just taking the knife from the boiling water as Lyric approached and said something quiet to her. She dumped the contents of her skirt into the pot and they said something else to one another in a soft undertones as Lyric gave the concoction a stir. After it had boiled for a decent amount of time, Clarina helped her make a makeshift filter from a bit of torn nightdress. Together, the women poured the hot water over the cup, the leaves catching in the cloth as the greenish water filtered on through.

"Will it work?" Caleb asked as Lyric carried the concoction back over.

"We're about to find out." She replied as she knelt and held the cup, with its frothy green liquid, out to Gray.

"Alright, _Mosye,_ " she said as she settled on her knees beside him, "I need you to drink all of this fine liquid."

"Why?" he asked, eyeing it suspiciously. "What the hell is it?"

"My sister is about to attempt a very painful procedure which I do not think you will want to be awake for." She told him simply. "This will ensure you rest comfortably for at least several hours."

"And this _whatchamacallit_ is safe?" He asked worriedly. "I ain't gonna wake up with a second head or somethin'?"

"Wild lettuce is quite safe, I can assure you" she promised, "though it might taste very bad, I did not have any sugar with which to sweeten it."

Unsure, Gray turned his eyes over to Caleb.

"I don't think she would intentionally mislead you, Gray." He told the man softly.

Gray frowned and took half a beat to think about it before pulling in the side of his mouth. He reached out and took the cup from Lyric's hand, raising the rim to his lips.

"If this kills me, I'm coming back to haunt you." He informed Caleb flatly. He blew on the surface to cool it before taking a tentative sip. Immediately, he pulled an ugly grimace.

"You said that it would taste bad, not that it would taste like horse shit!" He gripped petulantly. Lyric laughed and, despite his complaints, Gray smiled at her over the rim.

Regardless of his assertions on the flavor, Gray downed the green liquid as quickly as the hot water would allow. When it was gone, he looked expectantly at the girl.

"How long before this lettuce thing starts workin'?" he asked her.

Clarina was making her way over with the newly sterilized knife. She settled nearby and Gray eyed her suspiciously but offered no other histrionics about her intentions. Lyric's dressing down had clearly had an impact.

"You should start feeling its effects once the sedative hits your bloodstream." Lyric told him simply. "You'll probably begin to feel drowsy."

"No change there," He muttered back with a yawn. "I've been drowsy for weeks.

It took barely any time at all for him to fall under its effects. It was a bit like watching a clock tick down. First, he was yawning, next he was relaxed, and finally he settled back in his bedroll with a dopey grin spreading over his face.

"This girl's a keeper, Caleb," he slurred like a drunk man, "this shit is great…"

After a few more moments passed his breathing even out and he slept quieter than he had the last two days.

"Alright then." Clarina muttered after she had lifted one of his eyelids to test the dilation of his eyes. When he neither moved nor spoke she set about unwrapping the soiled bandages. Casting them aside, she took up the newly sterilized knife and cracked her neck and shoulders.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered.

Taking one last steadying breath, she leaned in to work.

* * *

 **Authors note:**

 **That...turned into a very long chapter!** **A very long, dramatic chapter!**

 **Seriously, you don't know how long it took me to get them to this point? (I mean, you kinda do if you've been reading up to this point but still) I'm talking even before I started updating this story as a new thing. I originally thought that there might be 10 or so chapters before they met for real but then it hit chapter 20 and i'm like...'Jesus! Way to prolong this thing, guys!'**

 **And the bit where she curtsey's to him? That came about because I had no god damn clue what to make them say to each other! They literally just stood there staring for like...several pages. I almost had Lyric stick her hand out an go 'Nice to meet ya, buddy!' lol.**

 **Still, I'm pretty happy with the end result. We got our dramatic meeting, Gray and Clarina got to snipe at each other (And he got to flirt a little), we also got to watch Lyric make Opium lettuce tea.**

 **(Disclaimer on that: I do NOT recommend anyone go searching for opium lettuce to use as a natural sedative. I am NOT an herbalist and though I did research how to strain it for tea...I also read that too much can send a person into a coma. So, yeah, I'm just a writer, my dudes, not a doctor...don't boil weeds. XD)**

 **I struggled somewhat with what Clarina was going to do here. Way back in the brainstorming process I considered having her just amputate Gray's foot but then I got here and realized 1) she doesn't have the tools to do it, 2) she doesn't have the training/confidence to do that on her own, and 3) ew, I don't want to write her cutting off a dudes foot 30 seconds after meeting him.**

 **what a way to meet your future significant other though!**

 **Clarina: *To her children* Then I cut off your dads foot!**

 **Gray: That's how I knew she was the one!**

 ***They kiss while the kids sit in horrified, stunned silence***

 **Yeeeeeeah, not the best (or most realistic) way to start a relationship.**

 **I would like to say I'll be able to get one more chapter up before summer hits but I don't want to promise anything. I do have the next chapter pretty well written but i'm unsure of how I want to end it. I'm debating if I should hold off on more updates until summer ends and then _maybe_ I'll have more of a back log? Right now, I have up through chapter 25 laid down, after that it's various unconnected scenes...if I don't want to catch up to myself, it might be better to hold off on more updates until the end of August. I guess we'll see what happens.**

 **Ok, song time! I chose When its Cold I Want to Die by Moby for this chapter. I first heard it playing at the end of Season one of Stranger Things. It was one of those moments where you hear something and automatically think 'That's so and so's theme!' That was me with this song, I can imagine it playing as Caleb wakes up and when he runs over to unconscious Lyric. It's got a nice slow quality to it that really fits in well with the scene.**

 **Ok, I think I've reached the end of what I needed to say for this chapter. As always thank you all for continuing to read and review. Like I said, I would LIKE to get one more update in before summer starts but I'm not completely convinced that will happen. We'll leave it at a tentative maybe.**

 **In the meantime i will work on getting some more chapters ready to go and if I don't see you all before June then I will definitely see you all near the end of August! Happy reading!~~~~~3**


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 23**

* * *

 _I've been upside down,_

 _I don't wanna be the right way round,_

 _Can't find paradise on the ground,_

 _All we do, all we do-All We Do, Oh Wonder_

* * *

" _Hush a'bye, don't you cry…"_ the memory of a voice murmured softly at the back of Clarina's mind, " _...and go to sleep, little baby…"_

If she closed her eyes, she could almost form a picture of the person the song had belonged to. She had little desire to do so, however, because then she would fall asleep. Sleep would lead to dreaming and she did not want to dream. She feared that _other_ version of Bran, who was waiting like some kind of nightmare to swim forth and consume her. He was right behind her eyes, coiled like a snake preparing to strike. No, awake was better. At least if her eyes were open she wouldn't still be at his mercy.

Staring into the pitiful excuse for a fire, Clarina was more than just a little antsy. She vibrated with the desire to _do_ something. Sitting quietly had never been one of her strong suits and doing nothing was giving her thoughts too much leave to roam. In the quiet, they inevitably returned to the events of earlier evening. Regardless of what she did to stop them, she could not prevent the influx of images.

If it wasn't the confrontation in the hallway then it was the wedding, if it wasn't the wedding then it was the assault and if it was _none_ of those things then it was her uncomfortable conversation with Lyric in the _Pirogue_. She did not want to think, she did not want to remember! She wanted to... scrub her mind clean of everything that had occurred within the past eighteen hours. Hell, the last three days! Could she not have a moment wherein her traitorous brain didn't parade every sordid moment in front of her?

Pushing an irritated sigh out through clenched teeth, Clarina endeavored to focus her attention on something productive. The problem was that there was nothing she could _do_ in the middle of the night, in a swamp, when everyone else was sleeping. She could have tried to talk to her sister, she supposed, and make amends for her unfair blaming of her for the assault but getting her alone was going to be a feat unto itself. Lyric had been fused to Caleb's side from the moment they arrived.

She could have tried talking to Saul as well, the older gentleman she had pulled the pistol on. He had sat a few yards from her for a time, attempting to whittle a piece of wood with his Bowie knife before giving up when one of his arms refused to cooperate. She had watched him shift his hold several times, grimacing, and then he had left to patrol the outer edge of the Bayou. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of him in the last hour or so. Clarina let out a bored huff and cast her eyes down, arbitrarily, on the face of the injured soldier.

His expression was innocent in repose, almost childlike. Not at all like the irate man who had shouted and called her a 'Devil woman'. The shadows highlighted his cheeks, creating pleasing contours and exquisite lines. Looking at him as he was now, it was hard to imagine he had ever been that other person.

" _When you wake you shall have some cake…_ " the memory voice continued, " _an ride the pretty little horses…"_

The song, it finally occurred to her, had belonged to a wet nurse who used hummed it whilst rocking her to sleep. Why, she had not thought about the song, nor it's owner, in many years! She wondered what had become of Lorenza, the colored woman who had fed, bathed, and clothed her in those formative years. She could scarce recall her features now, save for the warm brown of her eyes.

She did recall that her mother had been viciously jealous of Clarina's affection for the woman, even though she herself could not be bothered to take on motherly duties. She had likely sold the woman down the river when Papa was away on business, probably citing that Clarina had grown too old for a wet nurse as an excuse.

She did vaguely remember crying for someone who was not her mother, a vague faced female who had worn a ready smile and loved without reservation. Certainly, the new governess her mother had chosen had had no time for nonsense. She certainly had had no inclination towards lullabies. Perhaps some distant memory of being comforted in the darkness had called the song forth now? It was doing little to comfort her in any case.

Pushing the memory away, Clarina traced the curve of the soldier's wide mouth with her eyes to distract herself. She had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that he had a pleasant enough face for a Yankee. It wasn't that she assumed all northerners were snaggle-toothed and unkempt, it was just that she had just never encountered one such as _him_.

 _You_ _ought_ _to_ _be_ _putting together fresh bandages_ _instead_ _of lazing about, memorizing the face of a man you will likely never see again_ , the nurse side of her lectured sternly.

She couldn't help but stare though, something about him, rude and unrefined as he was, was fascinating to her. When he smiled it was as though the sun had come out. She found she wanted him to smile at _her_. She wanted that warmth shined in _her_ direction. The reason for this, however, eluded her.

 _Perhaps it's his eyes,_ she mused, _they're_ s _uch a striking blue! And those irises, why, they're rimmed in the darkest of sapphire!_ His stare had been intense, Clarina had been taken aback by the ferocity of it. Pair that blue with the equally dark ringed pupil and the end result was a striking hue which arrested anyone he turned them on.

She brushed away some strands of sandy hair that had fallen into his eyes, thinking it was impossibly shaggy. How long had it been since he had had a proper haircut? That wide mouth broke into a grin for just the briefest of moments before falling slack once more.

"Mmmf...Anna…" Gray mumbled in his sleep.

The sound jarred Clarina out of her musings and she leaned over to stare into his face, searching for signs that he might be waking. He made no further noises and she wondered, not for the first time, who this 'Anna' was he kept going on about.

 _I won't let her take me like that damn midwife took my Anna!_

His angry words echoed in her ears and she pulled in her cheek irritably. Clearly, there had been a 'Mrs. Gray' at some point and _clearly_ she had died, but why that information should perturb _her_ so was anyone guess. She didn't know him beyond what little she had been told, so his marital status should have meant nothing.

"Caleb.." he groaned, shifting and fidgeting in the bedroll, "Where's Anna…"

 _Good God_ , she scoffed when she caught herself leaning in to study his lips in the fire light. What was she doing? He was not some prize racehorse on sale at the market! One would think she had never seen a man before, let alone one with pleasing features. She was not this frivolous or silly and she did _not_ lose her head over boys! Sighing, Clarina busied herself looking at anything that _wasn't_ him.

Her eyes settled, unintentionally, on Caleb and Lyric, who rested a little ways to her right. He sat his back pressed up against an overturned log and her sister was curled against him like a cat. She had her dark legs folded up under her, with her knees resting against Caleb's leg. Lyric's head was nestled in the crook of Caleb's shoulder and his cheek, in turn, was resting atop her dark curls.

They were like two characters in a story book, their faces smooth and relaxed in slumber. Only the gentle rise and fall of their chests broke the doll like illusion. As Clarina watched, Lyric shifted minutely in her sleep and Caleb awoke enough to drape an arm around her waist and pull her in closer. Soon they were still again, the very picture of tenderness.

Clarina felt a little prick of guilt that she had not believed Lyric about her 'dream soldier'. It had seemed too fantastical, too much like a story one would read in one of those ridiculous women's magazines. Yet, when they had rounded that bend in the river and he had been there waving from shore, Clarina could not deny that at least some of what her sister had told her was true.

She wondered if she should be scandalized or, at the very least, concerned for her sister's virtue. They were intimately curled up over there, like newlyweds, and as far as she knew they had only officially met three hours ago. Perhaps she was a little jealous of their sudden and bizarre happiness. It was her wedding night after all, shouldn't it have been her curled up in her husband's arms?

It almost had been, she thought sourly, before everything had gone pear shaped. She might even have been able to love Bran had everything else never occurred. She had enjoyed martial relations before...she shook her head as though to physically dislodge the thought from her brain.

"Not going to try to sleep?" A friendly voice suddenly queried.

Clarina started, unaware that Saul had returned from his patrol. He was standing beside her and she marveled that she had not heard him approach. She didn't know if that said more about his stealth or her lack of attention to her surroundings.

"I don't think I could even if I tried." She said back, offering him as much of a smile as her bruised cheek would allow. Now that everything was calmer, she could appreciate every ache and pain that much more clearly. Nothing appeared to broken, thankfully...except, perhaps, her pride.

"I feel I should apologize for... before," she said, guiltily casting her eyes on the ground. "I should not have pulled that pistol on you. You were merely trying to help and I reacted badly."

She hadn't anticipated how unwelcome the touch of a males hand would be so soon after the assault. Saul had helped her drag Lyric and Caleb to shore after their collapse and she had lost her footing in the wet sand. He had reached out, grabbing a hold of her wrist to keep her from falling, and she had repaid that kindness by pulling a weapon on him.

"No harm done." The old man returned magnanimously. He looked tired, with dark rings under his eyes. She scooted over to make room for him and he took the unspoken invitation, settling beside her with a grunt. After a moment of awkward silence, he took the piece of wood from his back pocket and attempted to whittle at it once again.

"If you don't mind my asking," he said, pausing to blow away some loose shavings, "What the hell's going on with those two." He gestured with his head in Lyric and Caleb's direction.

Clarina sagged with relief, she had been worried that he was going to ask after her haggard appearance. He had to have noticed the bruises and torn nightgown, in fact she was fairly certain she had caught him eyeing the splotches on more than one occasion. So far had left her alone about them and she found she liked him better for that reticence.

"I haven't the foggiest," she replied with a dry laugh, "Lyric claims they've been 'seeing' each other through dreams and other such nonsense but..." She gestured with one hand and let the sentence fall off unfinished.

"Maybe not nonsense," he countered, laying aside his project to take up a large stick with which to stoke the fire, "you saw what happened back in the river. They had a seizure or fit or something, that's not normal under most circumstances."

No, it was not. Clarina shivered at the memory of them, locked in place, their arms quivering and jolting as though possessed. It had lasted no more than a few seconds but it had been terrifying nonetheless. She didn't know what to make of any of it.

"I never put much stock in destiny or soulmates or any of that rot," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself, "but I do have to admit that it was bizarre."

Without warning, something heavy and warm suddenly fell onto her shoulders. She jumped before she realized it was only a coat.

"Sorry about the smell," Saul said when she started," but you looked chilly."

"T-thank you." She stammered, quietly pulling the coat tighter around her shoulders. It helped hide the torn front portion of her dressing gown at least.

How strange, she had not cared about the damaged garment at all before. She had been too angsty, too traumatized, to give it much more than a passing thought. Now that she was idle she could appreciate how torn and revealing it actually was. She was fairly certain the men had gotten an unintended show of her breasts, which thankfully, they had been too polite to comment on.

"Whatever your sister made with those leaves is a miracle," Saul commented, bringing the subject back around as he stared down at the injured man's face, "I don't think I've seen Mouth this quiet, well, ever."

Clarina let out an unladylike snort of laughter and covered her mouth to try and hide it. He was right, though, the tea Lyric had brewed had been a lifesaver. She didn't even want to imagine how awful it would have been for her to cut into him with nothing to ease his pain. It looked as though Lyric had inherited at least _some_ of her mother's plant know-how.

There had been rumors around the Parish that Isadora had been a Hoodoo priestess but Clarina didn't know about any of that. She had only ever known her as 'the woman down the hall'. She had been forbidden, of course, to spend any time in the woman's presence but it was a rule she largely ignored. It had been Isadora, after all, who explained to Clarina how to manage her monthlies, and Isadora who had given her an herbal concoction to quell the awful cramping they brought on. She had been sad to learn of the woman's death as she had been kinder to her, in many ways, than her own mother.

 _Mother._

God, that word formed a dull ache in her chest. She had tried not to think about the woman who had birthed her, the woman who had treated her as a commodity and attempted to control every aspect of her life. Unfortunately, Bran's evil grin as he revealed what he had done would be forever tied up with any other memories she had of her mother.

"You alright?" Saul asked when something of what she was thinking must have flitted across her face.

"I...yes, I'm fine," she replied, sniffing as tears came unbidden to dot her eyes, "I fear I am not quite myself. My _uh_... mother... passed away this evening."

Passed away. God, what a stupid way of putting it! She hadn't _passed away_ at all, had she? She had been god damn murdered! Why was Clarina telling him this anyway? She didn't know him, he was not a family member. Why should she feel the need to explain herself?

"Sorry to hear," The old man returned kindly, "It's never easy to lose one's parents. They're the first thing we see in this world, our first guides, their loss is always keenly felt."

"Even when _um_ …" she could hear her voice cracking, becoming hoarse "...when we did not get on as such?"

"Ah well, I think even that can ease when grief is on board," came his sagely response. "I did not get on with my eldest at times but still felt it keenly when he was gone. The heart is a strange instrument that way."

Tears were trailing down Clarina's cheeks like twin rivers and she could do nothing to stop them. She swiped at them, angry with herself, but it did nothing to stop their descent. There was a brief moment of silence before a hesitant hand came to land gently in the middle of her back.

"It's alright, young lady," Saul murmured quietly. "You're allowed to be sad."

She wasn't sad though, she was angry, and unlike when her father died she did not let loose a despondent wail of grief. No, _these_ tears were livid! She was pissed that her mother had died before she could give her a piece of her mind! She was incensed that her mother had put her own happiness and security ahead of what was best for her children and most of all she was mad at her for being murdered!

How stupid was that?

Her mother had not _chosen_ to be killed by a madman any more than Clarina had intended to marry one. Perhaps she was the most angry because Lissette was the _only_ mother she would ever have and she had hated her! Eventually, the flood of angry tears began to subside. It was only when they did that Clarina realized Saul had spent the entire episode rubbing her back in small, comforting circles. She was grateful for his quiet unassuming presence as she slowly, painfully, pulled herself back together.

"I'm sorry about that," she said when she felt like she could speak calmly again, "What must you think of me?"

"I think that you've been through hell and earned the right to some tears." He returned diplomatically.

Clarina let out a weepy little laugh and rubbed under her eyes with the heel of her palm.

"You're kind." She said brokenly, "Anyone else in my family would have told me that I was 'ruining my complexion' and sent me off to scrub my face. My mother certainly would have."

"Pardon me for saying it but your mother sounds like a real _Tsoyg._ " The old man commented dryly.

Again Clarina laughed.

"I don't know what that means but, yes, she was not the most pleasant of people. Still, she was all I had." She sucked in a sharp breath on that sordid realization.

"I don't think that's true," Saul told her softly, "you have her, after all," he nodded his head in Lyric's direction, "and us, for as long as we're here."

"I thank you for that too." She said back gratfully.

Saul grinned at her and cast his eyes down once more. As she watched, his grin evened out into a soft, welcoming sort of smile.

"You back with us there, Mouth?" He asked warmly.

Clarina glanced down as well to discover the injured man squinting up at them in the ever brightening morning light. The sun was not high in the sky as yet, but the swamp was not nearly as cloaked in darkness as it had been. He didn't appear to be in any immediate pain either, which was good. For some reason he was peering quite hard in _her_ direction.

"Thought I heard someone cryin', " He mumbled tiredly.

"Must have been the wind," Clarina said with a smile, "or a Gator."

She was not about to admit that it was her.

"I feel strange," he yawned, "but I'm not hurtin' quite so much," he looked as though the fact surprised him, "What are you, some kind of miracle worker or somethin'?"

"I think you overestimate my abilities, Mr…?" She trailed off as she realized she didn't know his surname.

"It's Tucker but you might as well just call me Gray...or Mouth... like this one does." He shot Saul a lopsided grin and the man grunted back amusedly by way of reply.

"Gray then." She amended. "I don't think we've brrn properly introduced. I'm Clarina Serepta Leonarda Antonia Harris..."

"Jesus Christ, how many names do you have?" Gray remarked, his eyebrows shooting skyward.

"More than necessary." She muttered back, suddenly embarrassed. She had always hated the laundry list of names her mother had saddled her with yet she was so used to uttering them during introductions that they tumbled forth out of habit.

"What was that first one in that list?" Gray asked her dryly.

"Clarina." She supplied, smiling.

"Let's stick with that." He said, returning the smile wryly.

"The girl sleeping next to your friend there is my sister, Lyric." Clarina continued, nodding in the couples direction.

"Her I remember," he said with a groan, doing a full body stretch, "she made me drink something that tasted like a Mule's asshole."

Despite the crassness of the statement, Clarina let out a bark of laughter.

"Well, that 'Mule's ass' tea kept you from having to endure my cutting into you. How do you feel, by the way?" She asked him anxiously.

"Like I drank a liter of whisky but somehow avoided the headache, mouth tastes like cotton though." He groaned again, trying to adjust so as to be more comfortable against the rocky, uneven ground.

"I did what I could for the dead flesh but I fear it's only putting a bandage on a larger issue." She warned as she leaned down to check the wrappings she had thrown together.

"The sooner we find you a proper doctor, the better."

Without warning, Gray went still beneath her questing hands.

"Hey," he said, sitting up enough to reach a hand out towards her face. "How'd this happen?"

Clarina jerked away when his fingers grazed her cheek.

"Don't touch me!" She hissed, her voice high and sharp.

Her reaction startled Caleb and Lyric out of sleep, they jumped, blinking confusedly in her direction. Gray could only gape and Saul's eyes shown large and knowing in his bearded face. Climbing quickly to her feet, Lyric hurried to her sister's side, murmuring quizzically in soft Creole. The others could only stare with confusion, or perhaps pity, in their eyes.

"I...I don't like to be touched." She told Gray tersely, drawing in the torn sections of her night dress under the coat.

"Yeah, alright.." he mumbled back, regarding her with a knowing expression that she instantly hated.

Lyric helped her to her feet but Clarina gently brushed her sister's hands aside and fidgeted in place, feeling antsy all over again. She _needed_ something to do, she couldn't just sit there with all of them giving her those pitying looks. At least Saul had had the decency to look away and give her space, the others were staring as though she were a sad, fragile creature who might fall apart at any moment.

" _Ahem_ , since everyone is awake," Clarina said in a tight voice, "we should discuss our options for finding some help."

"Well, if you have an idea where we _are_ , we could walk to the nearest house and see if anyone will loan us a wagon?" Caleb suggested helpfully.

"I would not recommend that anyone _other_ than Saul or myself go look for aid." Clarina told him firmly. "You are in the south now, Mr...?" Again she realized she did not know his surname.

"Nahotabi." He supplied, nodding his head as though in greeting.

"You would not be received any better than the local slaves, I'm afraid." She finished, regretfully.

"Well, what's _your_ plan then, sweetheart?" Gray suddenly interjected. "Last time I checked, you weren't no man!"

"Thank you for that observation on my gender, Mr. Tucker, " She shot back sarcastically, "I had almost forgotten. What I mean is, Saul is the only able bodied _white_ man amongst you. I can pass him off as my Great Uncle to anyone we might encounter."

Then she paused before immediately correcting.

"My _mute_ Great Uncle." She amended, turning apologetic eyes in Saul's direction. "Forgive me, Saul, but with _that_ accent we would never be able to convince anyone we were related. Gray can act as your son at least but Lyric…"

Here she trailed off, turning an apologetic gaze in her sisters direction.

"What?" Caleb asked, not following. Lyric frowned and crossed her arms under her breasts as though hugging herself.

"She is suggesting I conduct myself as her ladies maid." The girl explained resignedly.

"You want her to act like your... servant?" Caleb asked, looking more than a little offended on Lyric's behalf.

"It's alright, Chula," Lyric told him, unfolding her arms and straightening, "I was a servant before all this. Some continued pretense will not kill me."

"No." He said back flatly. "No, I promised myself that when I found you you you would never be anyone slave again. Come up with something else, Ms. Harris, cause that ain't happening!"

"What else do you propose we do, Mr. Nahotabi?" Clarina burst out, frustrated by his attitude. "Do you think I enjoy forcing my sister to act as my ladies maid just so we can get some goddamn help? Believe me, if there was a better way I would utilize it but, as it stands, this will be our _only_ way of getting your friend some help as well as keeping the lot of you out of a confederate prison camp!"

Caleb glowered, his mouth opening and shutting as though he wanted to argue the point but ultimately could come up with nothing. After a moment he exhaled loudly through his nose and nodded, sullenly, his mouth pulled into a hard line.

"Fine." he muttered back angrily.

"I must warn you that you might hear some...unsavory terms." she continued tightly.

"I've heard 'terms' my entire life, lady." Caleb told her tightly, "it's not gonna affect me much now."

"What I mean is _terms_ used in regard to Lyric," she clarified, "we can't have you jumping to her defense for every unsavory epitaph. I need to know that you'll keep your mouth shut if you hear something you don't like."

This seemed to be the taller order for him as she suspected it would be. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that he was deeply, _desperately_ , in love with her sister. If his reaction to her having to pose as a servant was not indicative of that, then his tight posture before her now was.

"I…" He started to say something petulant, glanced at Lyric, then sighed and ran his hands back through his hair in aggravation.

"I'll ...keep it together." He promised grudgingly.

Lyric gave him a grateful smile and walked over to lay a comforting hand on his arm. His expression softened at her approach and he even managed a tight smile for her.

"You will have to pose as a servant as well, Caleb. Probably Saul's Valet. Can you do that?"

He gave her a harassed expression but nodded tightly nonetheless.

"And me?" Gray interjected, drawing Clarina's attention. "Am I supposed to be a mute cripple or somethin'?"

"You sound southern enough that I don't think you need to do much. If anyone asks, you're my cousin from Tennessee." she told him simply.

Glancing up at the brightening sky, Clarina knew they should probably get a move on if they hoped to get Gray to a hospital before the day was out.

"What will you tell people happened to us?" Saul asked as he rose to his feet and re-sheathed the Bowie knife at his belt.

"Mostly the truth," Clarina answered, "most everyone in the area knows I married yesterday, I'm sure most have already heard about the attack on Breeze Knoll. They may even be out searching already so all we need do is put out the story that we escaped the house and took refuge in the swamp."

"It's a plausible enough lie." Caleb commented with a shrug.

"You're married?" Gray piped in, sounding strangely disappointed.

"I was." She corrected softly. Gray narrowed his eyes but didn't press for further details.

"If you're ready," Saul said, "We can head out?"

"Oh, I didn't think you would want to come with me," She said, surprised, "Not with that shoulder paining you so."

"Well, I hardly think it safe for you go wandering around on your own. Besides, I don't think you could find the camp again without some help." came his even reply. "Though you might want to leave that jacket behind."

He was right of course, wandering around on her own was not going to be conducive to finding help if she couldn't lead the help back to camp. Also, she could hardly put out the story of him being her Great Uncle whilst sporting a union colored jacket. Shucking the thing off, she handed it silently over to Lyric.

"You two keep an eye on him." She murmured solemnly, nodding with her head in Gray's direction. "He might seem stable enough right now but he is, in no way, out of danger. If he's in pain or spikes a fever, you might need to make more of that Opium tea, Lyric."

"I understand," the girl returned softly. "Please, be careful."

"You too." Clarina murmured, casting what she hoped was a meaningful glance in Caleb's direction. Love her sister though he might, Clarina knew very well that even people who loved you could harm you. She was somewhat loathe to leave them unsupervised but, as there wasn't time for that kind of paranoia, she let it go. She would just have to hope they would be too busy monitoring Gray to get up to any type of fiddle faddle.

"Alright," She sighed, squaring her shoulders and turning toward where she thought the main road was located. "Let's go!"

Saul led the way through brush and bramble, stepping swiftly over the jagged rocks and stones. Because she was barefoot he tried to lift her over thorns that littered a portion of the path but even that proved difficult for him. He still favored that one arm and Clarina narrowed her eyes as she studied the way he carried himself. He had mentioned that he was injured, hadn't he, when she was holding him at gunpoint? In all the chaos she had completely forgotten to follow up on it.

"What happened to your shoulder?" She queried as he helped her step over some twisted vines.

"Oh, I fell sometime between when the Texans overtook the levee and we fled into the swamp. It's not broken, that much I can tell, but my range of motion isn't that great."

"Does it pain you much?" She asked.

"If I move it a certain way." He replied simply.

Based on what he was describing, it seemed likely he had torn a ligament, if not a damaged rotator cuff. If she was right he was in for months of recovery and an arm that might never function as it had before. It looked like his fighting days might be well and truly behind him.

The forest very suddenly opened up and Clarina found herself stepping out onto a familiar dirt road. The minute her feet touched the dusty, wheel worn track, she let out a little gasp. She knew _exactly_ where they were.

"Why, this is Tom's Road!" She declared with happy surprise.

"That someone you know?" Saul asked, one white eyebrow lifting confusedly.

"No, no, that's just it's name…" she explained, turning this way and that to see in both directions, "what I mean is that it's the main thoroughfare between the Plantations and town. If we walk for a while in this direction," she pointed south, "we should hit the Wehde farm."

"You think this Wehde family will be obliging?" he queried.

"I believe they will be, yes." She replied knowingly, "They helped my father bring in the harvest many times over the years."

"You sure they'll buy me being your 'mute Great Uncle'?" He asked doubtfully.

"They should, _if_ we stick to the plan," She emphasized as they started walking, "though I may have to play up the damsel in distress angle a bit."

"Ms. Harris, I doubt you have _ever_ been that." He said with a laugh.

"Which one? A damsel or in distress?" She queried with a conspiratorial smile.

"Either." He answered, laughing.

"Well, I'll have to be this time." She said back somberly. "Mr. Tuckers life is depending on it after all."

With that sobering thought in mind, they set off down the road.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **And we're back!**

 **Sorry it took me a little longer to get this up than I intended! I had actually planned to update at the end of August but, like most times when I take a long break from writing, I came back and ended up changing a whole bunch of stuff. I actually didn't end up changing _as_ much in this chapter as I thought I would but I _did_ rearrange some dialogue and add some more to the end. I thought about taking this chapter all the way to when they reach the Wehde farm but there wasn't a whole lot more I wanted to say and the chapter is long enough as it is. **

**I did struggle somewhat with where Clarina is at in regards to her sister though.** **The first time I wrote the section where she's watching Lyric and Caleb sleep, it came across like Clarina was jealous and in love with Caleb...which, uh..she's not. XD** **I mean, I think she might be a little jealous that she doesn't have the same thing yet and that her marriage to Bran went belly up but she has no feelings for Caleb at all right now. So, yeah, that part definitely needed some tweaking.**

 **I also had to alter the scene where she cries about her mother. My original set up just didn't feel right. I think the first time around, I had her having a mini breakdown in front of Saul and it was out of character for how she felt about her mother. Clarina _is_ due for a breakdown but I don't think it's going to happen this early and angry tears felt more her style. I like the way it came out in the end much better.**

 **I struggled, as well, the song Clarina is thinking about at the beginning of the chapter. The song that I was going to use was "All the Hours' by the Once. It's a really beautiful song and I love it (it got me through that first year after Traci died) but it just wasn't doing what I wanted it to. For one thing, I would have had to change the lyrics because there's a lot in there about car engines and concerts. I ended up using All the Pretty Little Horses because its one I remember hearing as a kid and has the added value of actually being a slave song. Still, if you want to hear what was originally going to be there you can always take a listen on Youtube or Google Music.**

 **Moving on to the song I chose for the chapter as a whole, we have All We Do by Oh Wonder. I must have gone through 2-3 different songs before choosing it for ch. 23. I needed something somber and everything else I chose was either too happy or too despondent. All We Do is a nice middle ground for where Clarina is at at this point.**

 **In the next chapter we go back to Lyric's POV and THAT was a fun chapter to work on. With any luck I should have that up for you soon. How often I update will be debatable for awhile as I've kind of caught up with myself. I know roughly whats going to happen from now until the end but I have to make some decisions about things in the middle before we get there. I'm just trying very hard not to write myself into a corner again. XD**

 **Anyway, thanks for reading and being patient with me as I adjust to a new school schedule for my kid. I'm going to go pick him up from school now in fact! I Hope you all enjoyed this long and overdue chapter and I will see you all next time!**

 **Happy reading!~~~~~~~3**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 24**

* * *

 _If your hope scatter like the dust across your track,_

 _I'll be the moon that shines on your path,_

 _The sun may blind our eyes,_

 _I'll pray the skies above,_

 _For snow to fall on the Sahara-Snow on the Sahara, Anggun_

* * *

"M-ma," Gray groaned, twitching jerkily back and forth in his bedroll. "Ma, the injuns..t-they got Pa…"

Lyric glanced over her shoulder as she was handing Chula a thick branch they had procured from the forest. They had been trying, without success, to repair the busted sling for the last half hour or so. After trying, and failing, to fix the splintered branch they had used as a beam, Chula decided it would be easier to just fashion a new one.

She frowned at the sheen of sweat trailing down the injured man's face in the sunlight filtering through the trees, at how tight his posture was and how ashen his complexion had become. She laid a hand on Chula's arm and gestured at Gray with her head.

"He appears to be having a nightmare." She murmured concernedly.

Caleb lifted his head and glanced in his friends directions, a frown pulling at his lips for a brief moment. He watched until Gray settled once more and then let out a soft sigh through his nose, as though he had been holding his breath.

"Yeah, he has nightmares sometimes." He told her solemnly, turning his attention back to their project. "That one is pretty standard."

"Shouldn't we do something?" She asked, watching Gray toss from side to side in agitation.

"Nah, he'll quiet down soon enough. His nightmares rarely go on more than a few minutes and he sleeps so hard that I doubt we could wake him even if we tried." Chula told her simply.

Gray continued muttering to himself but, as Chula said, he did eventually go still. He had been relatively quiet for the last half hour, having fallen into a light doze soon after Clarina and Saul departed. She and Chula had found themselves with little to do other than converse quietly amongst themselves. Idle chit chat could only take one so far however so, when it ultimately tapered off, they decided to busy themselves crafting a better sling.

Despite the semi-private time she was enjoying with him, Lyric found herself wishing that Clarina would return soon. She did not enjoy being the only thing that stood between Mr. Tucker and death. She was being overly paranoid, of course, he had been fine for the hour or two they had been gone, but the longer they _stayed_ away the more _worried_ she became. As though he had read her mind, Gray gave a sudden and great shout from his place by the fire.

"MA!" He shrieked, shooting upwards in the bedroll. "GET PA'S RIFFLE!"

Lyric shot about as that terror filled voice wrenched through the otherwise quiet air. Gray looked around wildly, his chest pumping as though he had run for miles. Looking panicked, he attempted to get to his feet. This failed of course and he collapsed, laying on his side with a pained yelp.

"Shit!" Chula cursed, tossing aside the sling to hurry to his friends side. Gray lay in a fetal position, moaning, as Lyric hurried over as well. She was unsure what help she could provide but was resolved to help nonetheless.

"Gray!" Chula said soothingly as he reached the man, "you're not at the farm, brother!"

Gray looked about erratically, twisting from side to side as Chula lifted him upright in an attempt to guide him back into a more comfortable position.

"T-they're everywhere!" He stammered, reaching out as though to grasp something and then falling back against Chula's chest in exhaustion.

"Come back, Gray!" Chula said, cradling the man in his arms as though he were a baby. "You're not there anymore," he continued soothingly, "follow my voice, brother."

Gray showed no signs of comprehension, let alone compliance.

"Liddie…" he panted, unheeding, "Could-couldn't save 'er…"

"He's hallucinating," Chula murmured when any further entreaties fell on deaf ears. His handsome face was tight as he turned imploring eyes up to hers.

"Is there any more of that wild Lettuce tea?" he asked, his voice rough with fear and desperation.

Rushing to the cooking pan, Lyric tried to scrap out what little remained into Saul's dented cup. It was lukewarm now, tepid, like bath water, but Gray appeared to be in no condition to care. She all but ran to get it back to him.

"Alright, _Mosye_." She murmured, falling to her knees beside the two men. Chula lifted his friend's head so she could tip the cup towards his lips.

There was no way to know precisely who or _what_ Gray saw when his blue eyes settled on her, what horrible memory his fever ravaged brain conjured up, but one thing was abundantly clear, it was not _Lyric_ he saw.

Those already glassy eyes went wide and terrified in his pale face. He gave a great cry of 'NO' and wrenched himself sideways, out of Chula's grip. One arm came up as he did so, catching her with tremendous force along the chin.

Lyric hunched over in pain as agony exploded throughout her face, spreading like wildfire up to her temple. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and she spit it out into the grass as Chula struggled to get the incensed man under control once more.

"Dammit, Gray!" She heard him grunting. "Would you cooperate, please?"

Despite the throbbing that radiated up the side of her skull, Lyric hauled up the cup which, mercifully, had not spilled and pushed the rim of it against Gray's clenched teeth once more.

"Please, _Mosye_ ," she begged, "you must drink!"

It took some doing on both their parts, with Chula holding his head and her persistently pushing the rim of the cup against his teeth but, eventually, his lips parted enough for her to dump the contents down his throat. He spit at least half of it back up but, between the two of them, they managed to get enough in him that slowly, painfully, he began to relax.

The horrible rigidness that had bowed his spine settled, the feverish fervor dimmed in his eyes and, after what felt like hours, Chula was able to lay him back on the ground. The man still mumbled to himself, twisting sluggishly in the blanket they pulled back over him, but at least he was rendered quiet and non violent once more.

"Are you alright?" Chula asked her when his friend was settled. His eyes swung in her direction as she held her cheek gingerly in one hand, already feeling a lump forming along her jaw.

" _Oi_ ," she murmured back, wincing.

"Let me see," Chula said, reaching across to take her face in gentle hands. She grimaced as his thumb grazed over a tender spot and he murmured an apology as he turned her face this way and that.

"Well, it'll bruise, " he said apologetically, "but nothing looks broken or fractured. I'm sorry he hit you."

"It's not your fault any more than it was his," she told him, giving him as much of a smile as she could manage with the discomfort, "he didn't know what he was doing."

"I know, I just…" He trailed off as he tried to find the right words.

"I just hate to see you hurt." He finally murmured, looking sheepish and a little embarrassed to put it so bluntly.

A warm glow filled Lyric's chest and she lifted a hand to cover the one that he still had resting against her cheek.

"I'm fine, truly." She told him, reassuringly.

He looked uncertain but didn't argue with her. After a few more awkward seconds passed, she patted his hand and climbed to her feet, dusting off the skirt of her dressing gown as she went.

"Could you watch him for a moment?" She requested, "I should probably splash some cool water on my face to alleviate the bruising."

"Alright, but watch for Gators," he warned as he sat back on his heels, "I've seen at least two since we woke up."

"I will." She promised and wandered over to kneel by the water's edge.

True to her word, she tested the area with a long stick before splashing the cool liquid on her jaw and the back of her neck. Nothing moved out in the green water, though she did see two medium sized reptiles sunning themselves on the opposite side of the bank.

Peering up through the dense foliage Lyric thought about how the humidity had grown ungodly in just the last few hours. It would only get worse as the day wore on and she wondered how the men were going to fare in those heavy cotton shirts and trousers of theirs. She had beads of sweat running down her back and all she was wearing was a considerably lighter dressing gown.

She wondered, as well, what was going to happen once this was over and they returned to town. Would she and Clarina simply return to Breeze Knolle as though nothing had changed? She hoped not, she had no desire to return to that house and it's hallways full of sordid memories. A part of her hoped the union army had burned it to the ground while they were gone. That was a silly wish though. She and Clarina had no money, nowhere else they could go. She might hate the plantation and everything it had come to represent but it was still a roof over their heads and a place to sleep until they came up with a better option.

Where would that leave the three men as well? Was it not logical to assume Chula would have to leave once they found their wayward unit? That eventuality filled her with the worst kind of dread, she could not bear the thought of being parted from him. Yet was separation not inevitable, had she had found him only to lose him once more?

Feeling dismal, Lyric stared down at the liquid pooled in her palms and swallowed a lump that threatened to rise in her throat. No, she couldn't abide the thought of that...yet he could hardly abandon the army to build a life with her. The war showed little signs of ending anytime soon and it could be months or even years before they found one another again. What if he were to die during that time? Shaking her head, she tried to push that thought from her mind. He was here, they were together. It would have to be enough for now.

As she prepared to splash the remaining water onto her face and return to him, her reflection in the water gave a great shimmy. Lyric glanced down, unsure, at first, what it was she was seeing but the rippling water appeared to be distorting her features in an unusual manner.

The change was subtle at first, and she looked mostly as she always had; Golden eyes, full lips, cafe ole skin but, as the water shimmered in the sunlight, those features swam. Her full lips narrowed into something more heart shaped, her nose elongated, narrowing out. Her dark brows faded into something thinner and more delicate. Lyric let out a startled gasp when the water settled and she was staring, not at her own reflection, but at that of the girl from the mirror.

The face staring back at her wore an expression equally as startled as her own, as though she were just as surprised to see Lyric as Lyric was to see her. Eyes like cornflowers, which were already bright in the girls pretty face, went wide and terrified. As she watched, those heart shaped lips began to move.

The girl was calling something out from the other side of the invisible divide, Lyric could clearly see words like 'help me' forming on her lips. She shook her head in disbelief, not believing that what she was seeing could possibly be real. There was no sound as the girl spoke, nothing discernible, but as Lyric watched she lifted one of her hands and slapped it insistently against the barrier.

 _Bam_ , _bam_ , _bam_ went that pale palm against the smooth surface of the river. _Boom_ , _boom_ , _boom_ came and answering call in Lyric's head. She let out a muffled, pained noise, clapping a hand against her head as that sound reverberated throughout her skull.

 _Help me_ , the girl's lips continued to plead.

 _I-I don't know how,_ she thought back desperately.

 _Let me out,_ her lips plead soundlessly.

Slapping turned into banging. She rained an assault on the wall of her watery prison with tightly clenched fists and Lyric felt each and every hammer like a battering ram. She slapped her hands over her ears as pain exploded all throughout her head.

"Please _.._." Lyric begged, pushing out the smallest hiss of sound through clenched teeth. She was nearly bowed over in pain, marveling that the two men were seemingly unaware of the loud and persistent banging.

 _Let me out_ , the girl's lips continued screaming. She was like a desperate, trapped animal. Her blue eyes entreating Lyric to help her, to release her, to do _something_! If she realized that her assault on the invisible wall of her prison was causing Lyric pain she showed no sign of it. Lyric whimpered, hot tears trailing out of her eyes as that perpetual booming threatened to tear apart her psyche .

 _P-please…_ " She pushed out in a squeak.

Her hands shook where they still gripped at the sides of her head. It was an effort not to fall forward into that green water, gray spots were appearing in her vision.

Seeing no alternative and wanting the pain to cease, Lyric lunged forward and slapped the water's surface with the flat of her palm. She wasn't certain if the 'LEAVE ME BE' that followed was something she actually screamed or if it was just a desperate thought wrenching its way through her mind. Ripples distorted the image of the girl's face and Lyric froze where she knelt, her hand still stretched out before her.

"Hey, you alright?" Chula's voice suddenly issued from somewhere behind her. He sounded curious but not overly worried, as though he were merely wondering what was taking her so long. She felt his hand drop onto her shoulder and started, pained tears streaming down her cheeks.

All she could do was stare, wide eyed, at the place where the Moon haired girl had been. There was nothing there now, save for the ripple of disturbed water that was spreading out in an ever widening circle. She swallowed on a suddenly dry throat, trembling, as Chula came around to kneel before her.

"Hey," she heard him saying as he leaned to peer worriedly into her face, "What's-are you crying?"

She couldn't answer him, she couldn't even find her voice. It seemed to have fled along with the girl trapped inside that a watery prison. She was trembling, she could feel it in every part of her body and her hand seemed to shake where it was still held out before her.

" _Lahollo_ ," he said insistently, taking her face in his hands and forcing it upwards, forcing her to look at him, "tell me what's wrong?"

Somehow, she managed to turn her frightened eyes up to his worried brown ones. It was a numb gesture, done more to ascertain that he was really there than to respond to his request. She let out a frightened gasp when the sun flamed out behind his head and made him appear, not as her soldier, but as the raven haired man.

She recoiled from him, shaking her head as terrified screams threatened to bubble up in her chest. Unable to cope with everything that had just occurred, Lyric scrambled to her feet and shot off through the trees as though someone had lit the soles of her feet on fire.

"What the fuc…" Chula yelped when the suddeness of her departure caused him to fall on his ass in the sand.

"LYRIC!" she heard him calling behind her.

She neither answered nor looked back as crashed through the brush. Sticks and small rocks dug painfully into her bare feet and needle grass ripped at the flesh of her legs but it did nothing to stop her mad flight. She knew, in the part of her brain that was still rational, that she should have offered him something more than an abrupt flight from the campsite. She simply couldn't stand to _be_ there a moment longer.

 _Poor lamb_ , the voodoo woman's raspy voice echoed up from the recesses of her memory, _You'll burn, she'll burn her way right out of you._

Was that what had almost happened, Lyric wondered fearfully? Was her fate going to be that of Bran's, a slave to the whims of some other.. Entity?

She had little time to think on it further before her foot caught on an upraised tree root and she was crashing to the forest floor. She landed hard on her chest, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. She rolled into a fetal position in the dry leaves, gasping, as a cramp clenched painfully in her right side. If she had had the air to do so, she probably would have screamed but, as it was, she could only manage painful hitching noises.

The crack of breaking twigs heralded Chula's arrival and his appearance caused her to slump in defeat, her gasping morphing into despondent sobs. She found herself wishing he had just left well enough alone. He had caught up to her more quickly than she would have liked but being a swift runner had never been one of her virtues. How must this scenario have look from his perspective, she thought dismally. She had pushed him away, ran off like a mad woman. Now here she was, collapsed in a heap and a hair's breadth away from hysteria. She did not have the mental wherewithal for explanations and neither did she have the heart to send him away.

Whatever he might be thinking took a backseat, however, when he caught sight of her lying trembling amongst the leaves. There was only the briefest of pauses between the time he arrived, ascertained her location, and he was rushing to her side.

The crunching of dry leaves was loud in her ears as ran to her. She saw his boots first, then his knees as he fell beside her. His hands were gentle as he tugged her up from her prone position and his arms sturdy when she all but fell into them.

"It's ...it's too much!" she sobbed, brokenly.

"Shhhh, shhhh, shhhhh," He shushed, his lips moving against the top of her head. His arms tightening around her, holding her as she wept,

It went on for a long time, her sobbing and his soft murmurings in that soothing other language of his. After what felt like an eternity, her tears began to ebb and her breathing lost it's hysterical cadence. When the flood of emotion finally subsided, she lifted her head to look into his concerned eyes.

He stared back at her with the oddest expression on his dark face, something that was equal parts bewildered but also resigned to this _thing_ that was that was happening between them. He let out a little sigh when she looked at him, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek, rubbing her tears away with his thumb.

" _Keyu_ _yaiya_ , _Lahollo_." He murmured tenderly. Without warning, he leaned in to trail his lips across her cheeks and nose.

She inhaled sharply at the contact. His lips cut a path across her cheekbones, pressing against all the places her tears had fallen. They avoided catching her lips however and she felt some disappointment in the avoidance. She found that she very much wanted him to kiss her. She wanted him to drive the fear and terror from her mind and she would not have stopped him had he tried.

"I-I'm sorry about your shirt, " she stammered when he finished, she felt very self conscious about the stain spreading out over his shirt.

"It's probably ruined..."

"You think I give a damn about my shirt?," He asked her, one of his eyebrows going up incredulously. "I can get another one, I'm more more worried about _you_ right now. You looked like you had seen a ghost before you took off like a bat outta hell. What happened back there, _Lahollo_?"

"I saw.." She trailed off, suddenly afraid to put what had happened into words, not knowing entirely _how_ to put it into words.

"What?" He prodded gently when she paused.

Clenching her jaw, she let out a little sigh and tried to explain what she had seen, what had happened. She had to fight the trembling that threatened to return with the memory of it. Chula listened with a thoughtful, if concerned, expression on his handsome face. He kept his arms around her waist the entire time, as though afraid she would flee once again.

"I didn't hear or see any of that," he told her when she finally finished speaking, "I only saw that you had been by the river for an excessively long time. I was afraid Gray had hurt you more than you let on or something."

"I don't know what to think," She murmured as she slowly climbed back to her feet. "She seemed so desperate and scared.

"What do you think it means?" He queried as he too stood up, still maintaining a light grip on her elbows.

"I don't know, I mean, it is not the first time I've _seen_ her but this was... different." She said shakily. "It felt as thought she wanted... I don't know, but Chula," She paused in speaking long enough to grab a handful of his shirt and peer fearfully up into his face, "what if all of this has darker connotations? What if we're just chess pieces in someone else's game!"

"Hey, hey, hey," he said soothingly, pulling her forward until his forehead was resting against hers. Lyric took a deep breath, trying to let his closeness calm her racing heart. She shut her eyes, focusing only on him, and herself, and this moment they were sharing.

"Didn't I tell you that nothing would hurt you while I was breathing?" Chula reminded her, quietly.

Lyric's eyes popped open and she lifted her head to gaze into his beautiful eyes once again. She so wanted to trust in everything she was feeling. She wanted to believe that their feelings were genuine, and not the product of whatever 'others' had brought them to this time and place, but with what had just happened she was utterly uncertain any more.

"I _want_ this to be real," she said in a whisper, feeling the tears threatening all over again. "I just don't understand how can we feel this strongly when we don't...when we've only just..."

One of his hands lowered to grasp one of hers. He pulled it up between them and pressed it over his heart, covering her hand and holding it there. She felt no jolt this time, no flood of visions. There was only the thump of his heart, beating away like a drum beneath her palm.

"The only thing I _know_ ," he told her ardently, "is that _this_ is _yours_. It's been yours from the first moment I saw you."

He leaned in so she could see the seriousness of his words shining in his eyes. She inhaled deeply, the woodsy scent of him filling her nostrils.

"I love _you_ , Lyric Atabei Harris," he confessed, his full lips so close that she would only have have to lift upwards on her toes to capture them. "I love _you_."

"But is it real?" She asked, doubtful and hopeful all at the same time.

"God, I hope so!" And with that he closed the distance between them.

The meeting of their lips sent an altogether different jolt traveling throughout her body. It brought an aching, a sense of deja vu so powerful that it could not be ignored. As his lips molded to hers, the inexplicable odor of sawdust returned to fill her nose. She was suddenly, acutely, aware of being back in that tight, cramped corridor made of roughly hewn logs. The possibility that they could be caught at any moment loomed large in her mind but, as his tongue probed insistently against her lips, she opened to receive him without hesitation.

He inhaled sharply, pressing her tightly to him. Lyric felt his long fingers trailing up and down her spine, strumming, as though she were a fine instrument. She found herself wondering how those nimble fingers might feel on other parts of her body as well. Without warning, he propelled her backwards and she expected to come to rest against the wall of the corridor but, surprisingly, her back came to rest against the rough surface of a tree instead. A distant booming resounded from somewhere outside but neither of them cared. The whole world could explode around them and they would die content, knowing they had found each other at last.

"I scoured the ages," Chula was panting against her lips, "I searched time itself for you."

A dim part of her mind recognized that his voice was... wrong somehow. It was deeper, less melodic than it should have been. He tried to say more but she silenced him with a deep kiss of her own, entwining her tongue with his in an erotic, primitive dance.

He lifted her, his hands cupping her buttocks as she wrapped her legs around his waist, gasping as that hard male part of him bulged in his trousers. He ground it against that throbbing, aching part of her and she moaned, wanting more of him.

"I know your name." she heard herself gasping when they came up for air once more, was that really her voice?

"You are Uncas, son of Chingachgook, the last-"

She never finished that thought. He was rubbing against her in such a pleasing way that she arched, overcome by heat and desire. Later, she would wonder at these words but, in that moment, it all made perfect sense. The name she had seen in the dark room that long ago morning, had it really only been two days ago, that name belonged to _him_. He _was_ Uncas. But he was so much more than that, wasn't he? Was he not also Chula Nahotabi, her soldier, the man she loved?

"Alice," Chula moaned, raining kisses along her jaw and down her neck, "Alice..."

One hand lifted to cup her breast through the thin fabric of her dressing gown. She whimpered, begging him for something she couldn't quite put a name to. She wanted him, she _needed_ him in the throbbing place between her thighs. Who knew how far things would have progressed had Clarina not chosen _that_ moment to call out in the distance.

"Lyric, Caleb!" Her sister's concerned (and also annoyed) call cut through the trees like a dagger. "Where the.." she cut off as though she had stumbled.

"Where are you?" she called out a few seconds later.

The two of them froze in place. Chula's hand stilled where it rested over her breast. They blinked at one another, shocked, as though only just realizing _where_ and _who_ they were. Abruptly, he stepped back, looking utterly shocked and ashamed as he dropped his hands from her. An embarrassed flush came to darken his already tan face as Lyric slid slowly back to the ground.

"I.." Chula started to speak, perhaps to apologize, but seemed unable to find the proper verbage. His expression could only be described as guilty, as though he had tried to force himself upon her.

"We should go." She mumbled, wishing she had the words to assure him that she too had been lost in what they had been doing. He let out a long hiss of air and ran his hands back through his thick hair.

Lyric dusted herself off, casting her eyes awkwardly to one side. Slowly, silently, they began to move, to walk, to make their way back towards camp. Lyric walked slightly ahead of Chula, listening to the sounds of his boots crunching on the leaves scattered about the forest floor.

She knew she should say something to him. They _needed_ to discuss what had just happened, but the truth was she was too exhausted to do so. Her head ached horribly, as though an iron ball were rolling from side to side within it. She truly wanted nothing more than to curl up on the ground and sleep for the next 100 years.

She didn't know if it was because of what had happened back at the river or that intense kiss, but whatever it was it had left her completely spent. The pale, moon haired girl... Alice, had fed her a mystery. Their kiss had only served to deepen it.

"I meant what I said." Chula said solemnly from behind her, his voice breaking through her weary reverie. Lyric stopped walking but didn't turn to look at him.

"It's _you_ I love." He continued, walking until he was standing by her shoulder. Even though she wasn't looking at him she could feel the intensity of his gaze on her.

"I don't know what any of this means or how it happened but I know _that_ much is true." He finished quietly.

Lyric wanted to return the sentiment but found that she could not. It wasn't that she didn't return his feelings, she did, quite ardently, but more it was because she didn't trust their source. She could not make such a confession until she figured out where her feelings began and her other _self's_ ended.

"What's happening to us?" She heard herself asking instead. She made herself turn, made herself look into his eyes even when the very movement of it made her head hurt that much more.

Looking at him standing before here, with his heart in his eyes and everything laid bare on his face, Lyric had no doubt that she would have laid with him back by that tree. Had Clarina not called out when she did, they would be there still, locked in an embrace that was fueled by forces other than themselves. There would have been no hesitation, no second guessing, and that lack of inhibition frightened her almost as much as what had happened back at the river.

"I don't know," Chula answered quietly, " But whatever it is feels old, and strong, like it won't be ignored."

"I feel like there's this _stranger_ inside me," she revealed carefully, "this whole _other_ person who both does and does not belong."

She paused to gather her thoughts, frowning. She could feel Chula's eyes on her again, waiting patiently until she reached a conclusion.

"Whoever it is is _waiting_ , she's _been_ waiting, for a very long time for me to acknowledge her." She continued, speaking slowly so as to make sure she said everything she needed to. His face was impassive as he stared back at her, guarded, as though he too were afraid to speak what was on his mind.

"I think she's been waiting for you." She told him softly.

Chula was quiet for a few more seconds, thoughtful. Lyric could almost see the gears turning in his mind, as though he were carefully considering each and every eventuality.

"I think you might be right," He said slowly, " Especially after what happened back there. My 'other half' has never been as persistent as you describe. He doesn't appear in mirrors _or_ speak to me much, though when he does he means what he says."

He didn't sound entirely pleased with this revelation. Maybe, like her, he was struggling with what all of it meant. He might have said more but the breaking of twigs heralded Clarina's arrival. She was approaching rapidly and her face was as dark as a storm cloud.

"Where have you been?" Her strained voice demanded angrily! "I specifically _told_ you to keep an eye on him?"

"I..we…" Lyric stammered for an explanation but her sister didn't give her a chance to offer one up.

"It hardly matters!" She said briskly,

"Mr. Wehde and his son have been _kind_ enough to loan us their wagon." She continued in a clipped tone, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at them like they were unruly school children.

"I'll deal with whatever it was you were _doing_ at a later date." She promised darkly.

Lyric knew that this 'dressing down' would be mostly for the benefit of the Wehde's, who might be able to overhear, but Clarina did _not_ look at all pleased with them. Lyric's face flushed as she realized she didn't have a good excuse for their absence either, not really.

Together the three of them walked silently back into camp. Once they stepped through the trees, Lyric discovered a local tobacco farmer by the name of Louis and his youngest son, Charles. Louis or 'Wedhe Sr' as he was locally known, was a stocky man who sported a large, oddly trimmed, brown beard. It was clean enough along his chin but his mustache grew wild and bushy under the nose. It gave the appearance of wrapping around his head and covering a decent portion of his upper lip.

He was bent over Gray, studying the man's sleeping face and saying something she couldn't make out to Saul. Saul for his part was nodding and still attempting to maintain his 'mute' facade. Lyric tried to put herself back into the servants mindset as they approached and Mr. Wehde glanced up right as Clarina, Chula and herself reached the fire.

"'Bout damn time!" The older man scoffed irritably.

He scowled as though he had personally caught Chula and herself in a compromising position. His suspicious eyes told her he knew _exactly_ what they had been up to and he did _not_ approve. She looked away from him to stare at his son, Charles, instead.

Young Charles stood a little ways back with his arms folded petulantly over his thin chest, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere other than where he was at that moment. No doubt, he would rather have been home in bed, sleeping off the previous nights drink he had consumed at the saloon. Charles Wehde was known for his excessive drinking and gambling to many around the Parish and he didn't look at any of them as he lounged there, looking bored and awaiting instruction.

"Well don't just stand there, boy!" Wehde Sr. barked at Chula, "Help me get your young Master here into the wagon. The nigger girl there can assist Mrs. Thibodeaux!"

Chula's face hardened for half a second, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. Then he rallied and nodded before walking over to quietly help the older man lift Gray off the ground. The younger Mr. Wehde moved in to help and the three of them human chaired Gray back towards the road. It was only when they were out of ear shot that Clarina rounded on Lyric.

"What happened?" She demanded incredulously. " We came back and you two were just gone! Anything could have happened while you were off doing.. god only know what! What _possessed_ you to leave a sick and injured man all alone like that?"

"I'm sorry," Lyric muttered guiltily, wincing in pain as the girls sharp tone caused her head to throb, "Something happened.. I-I ran off and Chula went after me and...I'm sorry, Clarina. It just...it all went belly up!"

"Is that really all there is to it?" Clarina asked tightly, folding her arms over her chest.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Lyric demanded, growing defensive in her exhaustion and pain.

"I'm not blind, Lyric." Clarina told her firmly, "I see how the two of you are together! I wouldn't have left you alone if I thought you would disappear to do...other things... in the swamp!"

"Good god, Clarina, give me some credit!" Lyric burst out incredulously, louder than she intended. "I was hardly sneaking off to do amourous things with Chula!"

Guilt swept through her as these words escaped her lips. The memory of Chula's lips moving against hers, of the sensations flooding throughout her body, filled her with such a rush of heat that she shook her head to dispel the image from her mind. It may have started out innocently enough but it had not been so by the time Clarina had called out for them.

"Alright, alright ! Keep your voice down." Clarina shushed, glancing around to make sure the others weren't returning just yet.

"Just promise me that you're not going to rush into anything _untoward_ with Mr Nahotabi." Her sister begged, her voice low.

Lyric realized she couldn't make that promise. She was already rushing headlong into whatever this was. A large part of her, though frightened, wanted to experience all of it.

"I can't." She sighed, casting her eyes to the side tiredly. "Just know that, regardless of how strange everything might appear, Chula would never _intentionally_ hurt me."

Clarina looked doubtful and as though she wanted to argue the point but Charles Wehde took that moment to make his way back over to them.

"Everything's ready, Mrs. Thibodeaux." He told her softly. Clarina grimaced at the title but did not bother correcting him.

The two women followed silently as they made their way back towards to the road and the waiting wagon. Wehde Sr. was already settled in at the front so Charles crawled up beside him as Saul reached down to help his 'niece'. Caleb reached down to help Lyric up next and, once everyone was settled, Wehde Sr. snapped the reins to propel them forward.

Lyric, exhausted, curled up on the floor of the wagon. She was weary to her very bones and just wanted to sleep. Dimly, she was aware of a gentle pair of hand's lifting her head and arranging it more comfortably against a muscled thigh. She felt her hair being lifted from her face and spread out behind her while long fingers came to stroke rhythmically through her locks.

A part of her realized they should show more decorum but her head ached so badly that it hurt to keep her eyes open. Anyone could glanced back would see them like this, everyone would know that something major had shifted within their relationship. Despite these concerns, her eyes were already beginning to close. The gentle back and forth motion of the wagon was somehow comforting.

She fell asleep before the wagon had even gone a mile down the road, a small smile on her face, as Chula's fingers dragged in a comforting motion through her hair. She wouldn't wake again until they arrived at the hospital.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **That turned into a _very_ long chapter! I wasn't even planning on getting this up until next week but I was so proud of it that I just had to upload it now. That being said, I can't tell you how many times I changed the part where Lyric see Alice in the lake. OMG, this had to be the 4th or 5th version of it! I mean, every time I come back to edit I change something but this was getting insane. I think at one point Alice was standing out in the water like a ghost, another time it was just her floating beneath the surface being all spooky...I think once she was singing? It took me forever to settle on this final version!**

 **I have to say though that, out of all of them, I like this one the best. My earlier drafts had Alice being more threatening than I think she would be under the circumstances. She's not an aggressive person and I don't think she has any concept of whats going on. Her moments of consciousness are really brief, kind of like someone lighting a candle in a dark room. When the match is struck the only thing she can see is Lyric and she doesn't understand why Lyric doesn't acknowledge her. I don't think she's trying to hurt anyone, more that she just doesn't understand what's going on. I'm going to be able to explore that more in subsequent chapters.**

 **We got a kiss finally! I know you all have been waiting for that! Hell, I've been waiting to write it! XD What a kiss it was too! I don't think i'm going to be able to keep these characters from having sexy times before I planned for it. I WAS going to have them hold off until towards the end but uh...yeah, I don't think that's gonna happen now lol**

 **The kiss was another section that went through several drafts before I settled on what you read. I considered having them experience what happened under the waterfall here but I'm going to save that for later. It was originally MUCH more graphic and I was going to leave it that way but I think it would have been too much. I'm pretty happy with what I settled on, I think.**

 **Moving on to Music we have a orchestral piece and a song. The orchestral piece is called Little Impulse and it's from the Movie, The Piano. I imagine it starts playing when Lyric runs off and ends after Clarina calls out for them. It's frenzied and beautiful and suits the scene nicely.**

 **The song for this chapter is called Snow on the Sahara by Anggun. I've had this song for years and I hadn't listened to it recently but one day when I was rearranging my playlists I gave it a listen and immediately thought "This is a Lyric song". Its such a pretty little love song and I think it encompasses how she feels really well.**

 **I think that's all I needed to get out about this chapter, the next one is a Caleb POV. Magua is slowly worming his way back in my mind as well so I think we'll be seeing more of him in the future (In case anyone forgot he existed). I don't know entirely when I'll get the next chapter up because I'm still editing it and attempting to get Clarina's next chapter written but hopefully it'll be soon!**

 **Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing and I will see you at the next update!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 25**

* * *

 _First of a thousand to write on the wall,_

 _It's only beginning, it's swallowing us,_

 _Somebody said it's unspeakable love_

 _It's amazing-The Maze, Manchester Orchestra_

* * *

"We should be rolling on into town soon," Wehde Sr. called loudly, turning his head a fraction of a inch to yell over one shoulder.

The sound of that gruff and unfamiliar voice shook Caleb out of a light doze he had fallen into and, for a moment, he didn't quite know where he was. The uneven back and forth of the wagon clued him in, however, and he scrubbed at his face vigorously in an attempt to come back to reality. Arbitrarily, his gaze lowered to take in the dark head resting against his upper thigh. He was taken aback by the mass of curls that were spread across his legs like a curtain until he remembered that it was _he,_ in fact, who had put them there.

Lyric lay in much the same position he had left her in; on her on her belly, with one arm tucked beneath her whilst the other was curled snugly against his leg. Her long, tapered fingers were resting near her face, her palm softly cupping the curve of his thigh so as to create an illusion that the limb was made out of stone or that it had simply arisen from the material of his trousers. The poor girl had succumbed to exhaustion long before he had, nearly as soon as the wagon began its bumping, uneven journey, in fact.

She hadn't stirred when they bounced over the large rocks that seemed to jut out sporadically along the worn, dusty path nor when Wehde Sr. cracked his whip or yelled at the horse. Her breathing was deep and even, though, which Caleb found that heartening but he frowned at dark circles resting beneath her eyes. They were much too pronounced for his liking, resembling fresh bruises in what was otherwise unblemished, dusky face.

Lyric had been visibly altered since the events at the lake (to say nothing of the kiss that followed). It was as though both events, taken together, had sapped her energy. She had moved about listlessly ever since and he had been keeping an eye on her with no small amount of concern. Caleb didn't know _why_ exactly her exhaustion should worry him so, it wasn't as if she hadn't earned the right to it. Neither of them had gotten any quality sleep the previous evening, he reminded himself, and _that_ had been a slumber born of exhaustion and necessity more than anything else. It wasn't as though they could to get comfortable with the hard ground beneath them and only a log for a pillow.

The biggest issue on his mind was not their lack of sleep, however, but the kiss they had shared or, more specifically, what it had almost turned into. Caleb couldn't say he _regretted_ it but he _did_ feel conflicted about the whole thing. It had been a spontaneous decision and he certainly hadn't gone into it with the assumption that it was going to turn into something so...intimate. The event was burned into his memory like a fever dream. He could recall every last word and sensation. Not only had they been transported to some other time and place but they had somehow _become_ other people! _He_ had called _her_ Alice and _she_ had called _him_ Uncas.. and the strangest part of all was how _not_ bizzare all of it had felt while it was happening!

God, the sounds he had pulled from her still rang in his ears; the halting little pant, the way her back had arched, the widening of her legs...all of it was still there when he closed his eyes! What's more, it had been as though he had no control over himself once it started. Caleb was no virgin, he could count the amount of partners he'd had on one hand, but he had never been in a situation where all his self control flew out the window.

His previous encounters had been pleasing, he supposed, though they had been the typical romps of an untethered youth. At the very least they had been perfunctory but they had been _nothing_ like what he had experienced with Lyric. The golden eyed girl had lit a fire in him that he didn't think it would be quenched easily. He had no doubt that, had they not been interrupted, he would have taken her right there on the forest floor.

Letting out a quiet exhale through his nose, Caleb laid a gentle hand atop Lyric's head and felt a flood of shame wash through him. He wasn't going to deny that he wanted her but he also wasn't willing to take her like some kind of pillaging neanderthal from a scary story. If Lyric was anything like the girls of the class she had been raised in, her virginity would have been guarded like it was something sacred. It was not a stretch to assume that her bedroom experiences were limited, if not nonexistent. If they found themselves in that position again, would he be able to rein himself in?

The sound of quiet humming cut through his self flagellating thoughts, Caleb lifted his head long enough to glance in the direction it was coming from. Clarina sat a few inches away, her back resting against the sturdy wall of the wagon. She had Gray's head resting in her lap, much the same way Lyric's was resting in his. He watched her smooth her hands down over the unconscious man's shaggy hair, a gesture that Caleb didn't think she was aware she was doing.

What had changed in the time between her finishing her procedure and her and Saul's return from procuring the wagon, Caleb wondered? What corner had the two of them turned that had been missed by everyone else? It was possible he was simply reading too much into the situation, that her stroking of Gray's hair was born out of nothing more than nursely concern, but Caleb doubted it. Was Clarina aware of the change? They certainly appeared much more intimate than two people ought who were supposed to be posing as cousins.

He found himself hoping the gesture was only meant to bring comfort and _not_ because he felt that Clarina wasn't good enough for his friend, much the reverse, in fact... _Gray_ was not good enough for _her_! He was in no frame of mind to take on _anyone_ as a mate, let alone a woman who had suffered a significant trauma a scant eight hours beforehand. Hell, Gray had barely been in the frame of mind to marry Anna Marie and he had loved her more than his own life. If Caleb were honest, he's wasn't certain Gray _would_ have married Anna if she hadn't come up pregnant. He had loved her, this was true, but that hadn't always been enough to keep his eye from wandering. The man courted chaos, always holding one foot in the fire while the other was running out the door.

Caleb would never forget finding Anna sitting on the steps of that Saloon, crying her eyes out because she was _certain_ her life was over. She had been terrified of Gray's reaction, that he would leave, that she would end up as one of those sad females who placed their trust in the wrong man. It had been Caleb who had retrieved his friend's sloppy ass from that tavern floor, Caleb who had sobered him up, and Caleb who ultimately delivered the news that he was going to be a father. It had surprised both of them when Gray did the right thing.

He didn't have the mental energy to do something like that again. Maybe it was because he had his own future to think about but he would _not_ be Gray's keeper a second time. He had picked up the pieces one time too many already; when Anna Marie died, when Gray joined the war effort... he couldn't follow him into something like _this_ as well.

"I see the roof of the hospital!" Clarina suddenly called out, her voice going girlishly high with excitement and relief.

Caleb looked up as well to discover a dark shingled roof peeking up in the distance. His hand lowered from Lyric's head to her shoulder where he gave it a little jostle to try and rouse her. Other than a muffled 'mmf' noise made low in her throat, she didn't respond.

Soon, they were rattling their way from the dusty road onto cobbled, more even pavement, and the landscape morphed from Bayou to a bustling community of iron light posts and cheery storefronts. A few people glanced at the wagon as they passed, casting quizzical, sidelong looks at its occupants, but no one stepped forward to ask any questions. Before he knew it, they were clattering to a stop in front of a three story, rectangular building made of red bricks.

" _Lahollo_ ," he called quietly, jostling Lyric's shoulder a second time, " it's time to wake up now."

Her eyebrows lifted at the sound of his voice but she showed no other signs of waking.

"We need to figure out how we're going to get him inside." Clarina was murmuring quietly to Saul, probably forgetting that the older man was still pretending to be mute. For the briefest of moments, Caleb was afraid Saul would answer her and give them away but Wehde Sr. never gave him the chance.

" _Feh_ ," the Tobacco farmer scoffed, "Let the Injun carry him, that's what he's here for, isn't it?"

He turned to regard Caleb coolly, giving him one of those up and down appraisals one might give to livestock at a county fair.

"He looks strong enough fer it." The man commented dryly.

"Not on his own, surely." Clarina argued back, looking aghast at the very suggestion. "Caleb suffered a head injury recently, the strain of carrying a full grown man could very well cause irreparable damage."

"Fine, send the nigger girl for a gurney then." Mr. Wehde shrugged, as though it didn't much matter to him.

He turned cold, hawkish eyes down at Lyric, who still lay sleeping on the floor of the wagon. Without warning, the stocky man leaned over and sneered as he slapped her as hard as he could, right on the rump.

"Get up you lazy thing!" He barked disgustedly.

" _Don't you touch her_!" Caleb growled out in what was _supposed_ to be Choctaw. What came out of his mouth was another language entirely, one he had never heard or used before. Lyric jerked awake with a gasp, looking around as though she didn't know where she was or how she had gotten there.

"I'll thank you to not manhandle my servants, Louis." Clarina said to him in a a clipped, angry tone of voice.

Caleb glared daggers at the older man, hiding the little shiver of fear he was feeling behind a wall of anger. No one else would know that he had just spoken in a language he didn't know or recognize. The shock of it was probably the only thing that was keeping him from killing Louis Wehde right then and there.

"Where..?" Lyric slurred, her voice weak with shock, pain, and interrupted sleep.

"The hospital, _Lahollo_." Caleb supplied quietly.

She blinked up at the building as though she had no idea what it was. Shaking her head as though to clear it, she turned that same confused gaze in her sister's direction.

"Would you be kind enough to have someone bring out a gurney, Lyric?" Clarina asked her, apologetically. If she aware of her sisters confused and slightly frightened state, she showed no sign of it. Lyric stared back at the other woman as though she didn't know her. Caleb, In turn, eyed Lyric, not at all comfortable with this new state of confusion.

"Are you alright?" He queried, leaning in to lay a hand on her arm when she made no move to do as Clarina was requesting. Lyric started at the sound of his voice, blinking rapidly, before turning to look at him.

"I..yes...quite.." she muttered in a distracted tone. She shook her head again before climbing awkwardly to her feet.

Caleb frowned as she made to hop over the side of the wagon. Her voice sounded off, as though it had become younger somehow, almost... girlish? Even her diction was altered, the responses more formal than he was accustomed to hearing from her. They _sounded_ antiquated somehow. He had only a few seconds to ponder this change, however, before Lyric was collapsing right in front of him. She had managed to climb down out of the wagon and even made a few stumbling steps forward before she let out a pained cry. Grabbing the sides of her head, she doubled over and fell to her knees beside the horse.

"Lyric!" Caleb shouted, rushing to his feet and leaping swiftly over the side of the wagon. Mr. Wehde hopped down as well and it was he, unfortunately, who got there first. Lyric, still on her knees, looking dazed, did not acknowledge the Tobacco Farmer as he stomped his way torward her.

"You stupid, clumsy nigger," The old man was barking, "get back on your feet before I tan yer hide!"

He raised a hand to strike her but Caleb grabbed it before the blow could land.

"Touch her and I will _feed_ you your own entrails." He threatened through tightly clenched teeth.

His tone was dark and dangerous, his voice dropping to a lower octave than he had never heard it. Lyric's head shot up at the sound and he could have sworn he heard her whisper 'Uncas?' before Clarina was jumping down off the wagon as well.

"What in God's name is going on here?" She demanded, stalking over to position herself between the two glowering men. She laid one hand on Wedhe Sr.'s arm and the other on Caleb's while the old man sputtered indignantly. His pale eyes were large and enraged in his bearded face and he looked ready to spit nails. Caleb all but dared him to touch either of them.

"This filthy Injun needs to learn his place!" The old man spat out pompously.

"And _I_ will deal with him," Clarina informed him in a firm, warning, tone of voice.

The two men continued to glare at each other over her shoulder, almost chest to chest save for the willowy woman standing between them. It was with no small amount of effort that Clarina turned about until she was standing directly in front of Wehde Sr. She was sandwiched between them so her chestnut hair was close enough to tickle Caleb's nose. It smelled vaguely of lilacs and something else he couldn't identify. The new position put her nose to nose with Louis.

"Why don't _you_ go inside and see if they can bring out a gurney, Louis?" She requested tightly, using his first name in order to regain his attention. "While _I_ will deal with _my_ servants."

Her voice was calm enough, reasonable. Only Caleb could detect the faint undercurrent of fury wavering beneath that practical exterior. Clarina might be playing the 'Mistress' right now but he could see that she was furious with the way the old man had been treating the both himself and her sister. If Louis Wehde couldn't sense that then he was a God damned fool!

"My _uncle_ and I will get my cousin out of the wagon." She finished tersely.

Wehde Sr. sputtered for a few seconds more, clearly appalled at being asked to do what he considered servants work, but whatever he saw in Clarina's face must have been enough to convince him to leave well enough alone. With an angry chuffing sound, he tugged his arm free from her grip and stomped away to stride up the hospital's stone steps.

"Racist bastard." Clarina muttered under her breath when he was out of earshot.

"I'm sorry about that," Caleb said roughly, though he really wasn't. He had been completely prepared to follow through on his threat if that man so much as _looked_ at his girl funny again. Kneeling down beside her, he peered worriedly into Lyric's wan face. She let out a pained sound when he placed a hand on her shoulder, idly pressing one hand to her head.

"I couldn't...I _wasn't_ going to let him treat her that way." He told Clarina angrily.

"Don't apologize," Clarina muttered back furiously, "if you hadn't broken his teeth I would have."

"Can you stand?" Caleb asked Lyric, turning his full attention to her now. She blinked at him but managed a miniscule nod in reply. Taking her arm gently in one hand, Caleb helped guide her back to her feet but she wasn't up for very long before she gave another grimace and swayed unsteadily where she stood.

"Lyric, what is it?" Clarina queried, reaching out to steady the girl with a hand on her hip while Caleb wrapped one of his arms around her middle. Once she was stationary again, Clarina peered into her eyes with a worried frown.

"You've been out of sorts since we left the Bayou, are you ill?" She asked concernedly.

"It's my head," Lyric groaned, shading her eyes from the sun as though it hurt. "The light and all the noise...it's like that time I sampled too much Sherry at Christmas."

"Mmmm, that sounds like a migraine." Clarina murmured as she reached out to lift one of Lyrics eyelids. The girl flinched away from her with a pained hissing sound.

"How long has it been paining you?" she followed up.

"Since we left camp." Lyric answered, leaving out that it had actually started _after_ the incident at the river and their kiss. She rubbed at her temples miserably with her fingers.

"Do you see any aura's, does it look like everything is covered in gauze?" Clarina queried next.

"A bit." Came the girl's pained response.

"That's a migraine, all right." Clarina confirmed as she straightened back up and placed her hands on her hips. "It's no wonder, with all this running around and Bayou nonsense."

She let out a sigh and pulled her cheek in as she thought.

"Well, we can hardly take her in the front door. They wouldn't treat her and the doctors would only laugh us out of the room." Again she paused and then an idea seemed to occur to her.

"Why don't you take her around to the kitchens," she suggested to Caleb, "one of the servants might know of a place she can rest until it passes. If worse comes to worse, I'm sure I can convince Dr. Phelps take a look at her later"

"Are these migraine things serious?" Caleb asked, having never heard of such a thing and worriedly eyeing Lyric who seemed hard pressed to stay upright.

"Not typically," Clarina answered, "Mama used to get them all the time but she was usually able to sleep them off in a few hours."

Caleb felt doubtful but didn't have any better ideas. It was easier to go with Clarina's 'migraine' theory than try to explain what had happened in the woods. He gave a brief nod before silently turning back to Lyric.

"Can you walk? He asked her doubtfully.

She nodded but he didn't think she actually _heard_ a word that he said. Her eyes were so glassy and unfocused that he ended up making the decision for her. Sweeping the girl up into his arms, Caleb proceeded to carry her like a baby toward the red brick structure. She made a little surprised sound to suddenly find herself airborne but settled in against him readily enough.

Apparently, the exchange with Clarina had taken just long enough for Wehde Sr. to return with some help. Caleb passed him as he was coming down the stairs, followed closely behind by several sharply dressed nurses in white and blue uniforms. Two male attendants brought up the rear, carrying a gurney between them.

"Miss Clarina, are you alright?" A young, red haired woman was exclaiming as she raced down the steps.

"We heard there was an attack on Breeze Knolle!" Cried another.

"Such a tragedy! Your poor mother and husband!" A third nurse was adding.

News apparently traveled quickly in this town.

There were other such sentiments but they were lost to Caleb as he rounded the building and found himself immersed in a veritable sea of white. Bandages and linen were strung on clothing lines that had been set up at the back end of the hospital. When the sheets billowed upwards in the breeze, he caught sight of a group of dark skinned women who were hanging more linen up to dry a few feet back. One looked up curiously as he approached, regarding him with solemn eyes as she passed an arm across her sweaty brow.

"Can ah help ya?" she asked in a thick southern drawl.

" _Uh_ , Ms. Harris said I should come back here." He explained, dropping Clarina's name in the hopes that it made his appearance more relevant, "This girl is _uh_...she needs a place to rest."

One dark brow went up.

"She injured?" The woman asked simply.

"Just tired." He supplied vaguely.

"Well, they ain't gonta help yew up front, dat's fo' sho'" The woman sighed as she reached down to haul up an empty clothing basket. She settled it against her hip and gestured to the left with her head.

"Better come in, den. We'll see wot we can do fer ya."

She made her way around them and sauntered through the miles and miles of billowing laundry as though it wasn't even there. Caleb followed silently behind her, turning Lyric sideways when they had to pass between wet sheets and bandages. Finally, they came to a set of wooden stairs and the dark skinned woman led him up them swiftly. Caleb was soon stepping into a small, cramped kitchen that was warm and smelled of roast chicken. It contained a table in one corner and the only other occupant was a young woman who was manning the fire.

"We got company, Marisol." The dark skinned woman announced as she walked past and disappeared into a shadowy alcove at the back. She didn't return which led Caleb to assume there must be another door back there.

"What's this then?" The new woman, Marisol, queried as she turned about. She looked to be in her late teens, with tightly curling brown hair and features that he could only describe as Spanish. Her eyes, when she settled them on him, were hazel. They shined brightly in the light from the fireplace and gave her face a kindly glow.

"I was told to bring her here, that there might be a bed?" Caleb explained lamely.

Marisol's eyebrows went up as she took in Lyric, who lay in his arms with her head nestled in the space between his neck an shoulder. He didn't think she had fallen unconscious per se, more likely she was just immersed in a kind of pained doze.

"Well, we don't have no beds at present," Marisol explained apologetically, "but you can set her at that table if you want...least till we can come up with somethin'"

The table in question was a small, simple thing, made of a sturdy tan wood that looked squished into its place in the corner. Seeing no other alternative and realizing he couldn't stand there holding her forever, Caleb carried Lyric over and gingerly lowered her into one of the rickety chairs. She went easily enough, resting her elbows on the table and cradling her head in her hands. Marisol made her way over to them, carrying a steaming cup of something in one hand and a small hunk of bread in the other.

"What's your name, _Cariño_?" The young woman queried, gently placing the cup in one of Lyric's hands and holding it there as though she sensed the girl needed the extra help.

"L-Lyric…" his golden eyed girl supplied weakly.

Caleb didn't know why, but he was suddenly very relieved that she had offered up her own name and not Alice's. Maybe it was because of the 'Uncas' he had heard her mumble back by the wagon or the fact that he himself had spoken in a language he didn't recognize but, whatever the reason, he was growing increasingly concerned that it had not been _Lyric_ who had climbed out of that wagon.

"Well, you drink up all this _remedio_ , Ms. Lyric, and we're gonna see what we can do about a bed." Marisol told her with a kind smile.

"Thank you." Caleb mouthed over the tired girls head when all Lyric could manage was a wan smile. Marisol smiled back and patted Lyric's hand before handing the bread over to Caleb and returning to her place by the fire. Once she was occupied once again, Caleb knelt down next to the chair and turned Lyric's face to his.

"I'm going to go see what's being done for Gray," he told her softly, "will you be alright on your own for a bit?"

"I think so.." she said back, sipping the tea and then furrowing her brow before she spoke again.

"How did I get here, Chula? The last thing I remember is falling asleep in the wagon and then I was on the ground by the horse? What happened in between, how did I get here?

"You collapsed by the wagon," he told her, alarmed that she had no memory of the last ten minutes, "Clarina said to bring you back here because you have a...migraine..I think was the word?"

"No no no no," she moaned, looking horrified that she had apparently lost so much time. "No, this can't be happening! I thought I gave her what she wanted..I-I don't understand.."

"Shhh, it's ok, we'll figure it out." He said soothingly, pulling her in against his shoulder in a tight hug.

He didn't have answers for her, not good ones anyway. Clearly, neither of them knew for certain what these other _entities_ wanted of them. His had been rather reticent until very recently while _hers_ had quite literally just tried to bust her way out of the girls skull, there was no clear rules for any of it and both of them were flying blind. He thought back to that moment in the woods, before the kiss, when Lyric revealed all her fears to him about what was happening.

 _What if all this has darker connotations,_ she had said, _what if we're just chess pieces in someone else's game_?

He hadn't thought about it in those terms until that moment but he couldn't deny that something sinister appeared to be playing out in the background. Unable to offer her anything more in the way of answers, he released her and pressed the hunk of bread into her free hand before kissing the top of her dark head. He took a moment to breathe her in, letting her scent flood his nose. It was something that reminded him a bit of apples, with an undercurrent of cinnamon mixed with other dark spices. He let himself enjoy it for a few more seconds before rising to his feet and heading for the alcove the dark skinned woman had disappeared into. He peered into that shadowy corner and discovered his initial assumption had been correct, there was indeed a small door at the end of it.

"Does this lead out to the main hospital?" He asked Marisol politely.

"It does," she confirmed, "but what could you possibly need out there?"

"My ...my _uh.._ employer _..._ was just admitted." He stammered, correcting himself before he could say 'friend' or 'unit mate'. He doubted Marisol would care either way but he didn't want to arouse any more suspicious than was necessary.

"I just want to see that he's being taken care of. Can you keep an eye on her for me, just for a little while?" He gestured with his eyes in Lyric's direction, frowning at how she was numbly nibbling at that hunk of bread, as though the very act of eating was too much for her. Marisol nodded and he smiled at her in thanks before heading through that small door and out into a narrow hallway. The hallway, in turn, ended up dumping him out into the front entryway of the hospital.

Nurses clad in white and blue were hustling and bustling in every direction, paying him little mind as they carried soiled linens, carts of food, and what looked like surgical equipment from room to room. The hospital interior was laid out in a T shape, with a pair of opened double doors at either end. The doorway just ahead of him appeared to house the mostly recovered. He could make out various men in hospital johnnies playing cards and laughing with one another in the rows of iron beds.

Down the opposite side, the one closest to him, appeared to be where they housed the sick and dying. Coughs issues up from the open doorway to his right, with sickly moans following close behind. As he turned to look, a blonde haired nurse stepped forward, her features lined with resignation and exhaustion, to quietly pull the double doors closed. A large staircase stood at the helm, wherein nurses were coming and going in a constant flux of activity. If Caleb hadn't been so busy taking it all in, he might have seen Clarina sooner.

"Be reasonable now, Mrs Thibodeaux," a condescending male voice was arguing, "you've just been through a very traumatic experience. You should be resting, not assisting me in a time consuming, complicated surgery."

Caleb turned in circles, searching through the throng of moving bodies for the person that voice belonged to. Finally, he caught sight of a familiar chestnut colored head and discovered Clarina standing no more than a few feet away, conversing with to a portly man wearing horn rimmed spectacles. The latter appeared to be fighting to maintain his composure.

"I have never been more reasonable in my life, Dr. Phelps!" She back tightly. "And what's more, I know this case! That man's foot is rife with gangrene and I intend to see this through to the end!"

"You look as though you could fall over at any moment!" The doctor said back tersely, clearly struggling for patience in the face of her unrelenting stubbornness.

"And I repeat that I am fine!" She insisted firmly.

They regarded each other in tense silence as Caleb made his way through the sea of moving bodies. Clarina had a stubborn resolve shining in her green eyes and the doctor stared back with a barely contained agitation in his. She glanced over as Caleb finally made his way over and her eyes shifted from stubborness to concern.

"How is she?" She queried worriedly. "Were you able to find a bed?"

"They're looking after her in the kitchen for now," he told her, looking around as though he expected his friends to appear out of thin air, "What happened to the Wehdes and Saul? What's going to happen to Gra-I mean _uh_... _Mr_. _Tucker_?"

"Pardon me but...who are you?" The Doctor interrupted in a clipped tone, giving Caleb a hard look that he didn't much care for.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dr. Phelps! This is Caleb Nahotabi," Clarina explained, looking embarrassed, "He's Mr. Tucker's _um_... man servant! He helped us bring him here today. Caleb, this is Dr. Phelps."

Caleb might have stuck his hand out for a shake but the doctor was looking at him as though he smelled bad. Hell, maybe he did! He _had_ spent the better part of two days in a stinking swamp, after all.

"Indeed." Dr. Phelps muttered skeptically. He looked as though he didn't believe her story but wasn't willing to call her out on it either.

"The Wehdes already headed back to their farm, Caleb." She told him softly.

"Oh, what about The Rabbi then?" Caleb continued concernedly. He was aware that the Jewish banker could well enough look after himself, especially in a hospital, but it felt strange to be separated from him and Gray after so long in close quarters.

"By, _The Rabbi,_ I assume you mean Mr. Hime?" The doctor translated crossly. " _He_ is being tended to by Dr. Polk down the hall. _Mr_. _Tucker_ is what I would call 'banged up'. He will need weeks of recovery and that is _only_ if he survives the procedure first."

"Procedure?" Caleb repeated, not quite following.

"For his foot." Dr. Phelps clarified, looking at Caleb as though he were stupid. "Surely you didn't think he would be able to keep it?"

"So you do have to amputate it." Caleb translated dismally.

Gray was not going to take the loss of the limb well. Even if anyone else would see losing a foot as better than losing their life, he was not certain that Gray would feel the same. He had a thing about pity, it was not something he had ever taken well to. In his mind, he would now be a cripple. Someone to be mocked at the very least if not be cast aside altogether. Caleb didn't think he would be able to abide either scenario.

"We knew it was a possibility," Clarina said back softly, "and in terms of his surviving the surgery, _I_ refuse to let him expire!"

With that she turned resolute eyes back in the doctors direction.

"I am going to be in that operating room, Dr. Phelps." She informed him flatly. "So, are you going to let me change into a uniform or am I going to be assisting you in this dressing gown?"

The doctor studied her face for a moment with his mouth pulled into a grim line. Clearly, he didn't like this plan but it was also clear that Clarina was not going to be deterred. If he wanted to keep her out of that operating room, he was going to have to drug her or lock her in a closet. As neither of those things was a viable option, the doctor was forced to relent, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Fine," he sighed resignedly before holding up a finger in front of her face. "But at the first sign of collapse I _will_ send you from the room, are we clear?"

"We are!" she said back with a curt nod.

"Alright, go see if Emilia can set you up with a uniform." He told her before heading up the stairs and, presumably, to the surgery room. He looked eager to get away from both of them. Once the doctor was gone, Caleb reached out to lay a hand on Clarina's arm.

"What should I do?" he asked her, solemnly.

She looked at the hand on her arm as if it were a poisonous snake that was getting ready to bite her. Seeing her squirm, Caleb quickly removed it and mentally kicked himself for being so thoughtless. Of course she didn't want to be touched right now, especially by a man.

"For the moment, there's not much you _can_ do," she said back uncomfortably, "just make sure my sister is settled and sit tight until this is finished."

"Thank you for doing this, really!" He told her gratefully, trying to take the awkwardness out his his faux pas and talking too much. "You don't owe us anything and you've already done more than we could rightfully expect."

His gratitude seemed to have taken her by surprise. Either he had overdone it in his nervousness or she simply wasn't accustomed to being thanked for anything.

"Just.. _um_.. see to it that you treat my sister with respect and we'll call it even, hm." She stammered, managing a small smile for him before excusing herself to make her way toward the stairs. She hadn't gotten far before Caleb called out after her.

"I do love her, you know."

It was a strange thing to say, he knew that, but he suddenly felt like he _needed_ to justify his feelings for her sister. Clarina paused in her upward ascent, her hand freezing on the railing as she processed his words.

"I wouldn't hurt her," he continued, "not for all the world."

"I...I would really like to believe that," she mumbled before letting out a sigh, "I just...I…" She couldn't seem to find the words for what she wanted to say. After a few seconds of stammering and trying to find them, she shook her head and hurried quickly up the stairs, her cheeks flushing red as she went.

Caleb starred after her for a minute before letting out a little sigh of his own. He knew Clarina had every right to question his intentions, hell he would have questioned them if he were in her place. He just wished he could prove to her that he had no plans to bed and abandon her sister. No, whatever this was, he was in it for the long haul, however long that turned out to be.

Seeing nothing else to do and not wanting to interrupt Saul's time with the doctor, he decided it was probably best to make his way back to Lyric. He retraced his steps to the narrow hallway and it's alcove, discovering a kitchen that was now empty now save for Lyric, who was resting with her head on the table. The bread she had been munching on when he left had rolled away from her open palm and was tilting back and forth just an inch or so away, forgotten. Caleb was making his way back over to her when Marisol suddenly appeared through the door he had just exited, peeking her head around the corner.

"We found a room near the back," she told him quietly, "Why don't you bring her and follow me?"

Caleb nodded his understanding before pulling Lyric back from the table and lifting her weightlessly into his arms. She let out a little sigh but didn't wake as he bore her weight toward the alcove door. He followed Marisol down the narrow corridor that led to the main thoroughfare but she made a sudden turn and suddenly they were stepping through a door he hadn't seen on his first pass. She led him down another narrow hallway until they were standing in front of a small room with a single, wrought iron bed and a nightstand that had a candle burned down nearly to a nub on top of it.

"This room belongs to one of the nurses but they won't be back until night time," Marisol said as she held the door for him. "You'll be on your own for tonight but this should do you for awhile."

"I understand, thank you." He said before he carried Lyric through the door and settled her on top of the thin quilt. He had intended to make sure she was comfortable and leave her to sleep but, right as he was preparing to do just that, she shot out a hand and grasped his wrist.

"How is he?" she asked, her voice shaky and tremulous sounding. Caleb didn't have to ask who she was talking about and he suddenly loved her that much more for asking after his friend when she, herself, was not doing that great. Smiling, he twisted his wrist until his hand was grasping hers and he settled on the edge of the bed.

"Going into surgery." He told her quietly. "How are _you_ feeling?"

"Head still hurts," she said with a grimace, "I don't think it's a migraine like Clarina was suggesting."

Caleb had to agree, it came too close on the heels of what had happened between them in the woods. It was too.. convenient... for it to just be just a headache. Feeling guilty all over again he turned ashamed eyes to her weary ones.

"I'm sorry," He said, pulling his mouth into a hard line, "for what happened in the woods."

She blinked, regarding him with a curious, thoughtful expression.

"I do not know why you should be sorry," she said, "I'm as much at fault for what happened as you are."

"It shouldn't have…" he paused, frowning at his hand where it clasped hers, "it shouldn't have happened like _that_."

"How should it have happened then?" she asked, her voice warm and slightly teasing despite her obvious discomfort. She graced him with a small smile before continuing. "In a bed, by candle light with roses scattered about? You do not strike me as a dime novel savant, Chula?

Again an image of her heat filled face flashed through his mind. For the briefest of moments he was back against that tree, with her legs wrapped about his waist and the hard male part of him begging to be buried in her heat. He pushed the image firmly and swiftly away.

"What I mean is you deserve _better_ …" he clarified, "better than what it would have turned into anyway."

Her free hand came out to land on his knee, startling him. When he looked down into her face, she was peering up at him with an open and honest expression.

"For what it's worth, I do not think I would have regretted it even if it _had_ progressed to that." she told him seriously.

Looking at her lying there, with her beautiful face staring up at him and all that raw emotion in her eyes, Caleb had another overwhelming desire to kiss her. On the heels of that came the thought that what had happened in the Bayou was an inevitability. If he were honest, it was likely to happen again, especially if they found themselves alone. It was a thought that both excited and scared the hell out of him.

"Will you stay with me awhile?" She requested, tiredly. "At least until I fall asleep?"

"Are you sure? I mean, what if.." he started to argue but she shook her head and smiled at him.

"I think we will be able to control ourselves if all we do is lay here together." she said with a weak little laugh.

Caleb wasn't so sure but he wasn't willing to deny her anything at this point. Kissing her fingers, he returned her hand to her and climbed awkwardly into the narrow bed. It was barely wide enough for the both of them so they ended up with her curled half on top of his chest with her head resting against his shoulder.

"Comfortable?" He asked when she settled.

"Mmmm," she mumbled back tiredly.

He went quiet so she could rest, absentmindedly stroking one of her arms with his fingers whilst listening to the sound of her breathing. When he thought she had drifted off at last, he prepared to rearrange her so he could get up to go search for Saul, but he had only shifted a fraction of an inch before she suddenly spoke again.

"You said you loved me," she mumbled, "back in the Bayou."

"I did." he confirmed softly. "I _do_."

"I did not say it back." she whispered regretfully.

She hadn't but he hadn't held it against her. He knew the situation was bizarre and that declaring your love for someone you had only just met was even more so. The whole thing was frightening for her on a level he was not experiencing so he could afford to be patient while she navigated her emotions.

"It's alright." He said soothingly, rubbing her arm in a gentle up and down motion.

"It's not..." she mumbled tiredly, shaking her head, "I should have said it back…I should have.." then she gave a little sigh and finally drifted off.

Caleb smiled tenderly before kissing her and rearranging her on the bed. Nothing happened when his lips touched hers this time. There was no jolt, no sense of falling back in time. It was just a soft meeting of lips that she wasn't likely to remember.

Well, if that was all he was going to get, it was good enough for him, he decided. Standing back up once more, he stretched until his back popped and then headed off in search of something meaningful to do.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

 **Here we are at then next chapter...Finally!**

 **I'm so sorry this took so long to get up, I ended up having a weird month. For starters, I was sick for 3 weeks in row. It was like one cold right after the other and then, no sooner would I start to feel _better_ and then _another_ cold would hit! This went on from the last week of September and only eased up sometime last week. **

**It followed a pattern too; I would start to feel like crap on a Friday and be sick until Monday or Tuesday. Then I would be ok _again_ for about two days and Friday would roll around and I'd be sick AGAIN. The third time it happened I ended up being laid up for a an entire week and only opened this story long enough to edit the first 3 paragraphs. :P**

 **The other weird thing was that it brought a depression with it. It basically left me wanting to do _nothing_ other than binge watch shows on Netflix and Prime. I don't know if that was just from being sick for so long or what but it kinda sucked. I mean, I don't really need an excuse to binge watch something but I usually don't do it for a month. Eventually, I'll hit point where I have to do something constructive or risk losing my mind.**

 **All that being said, we FINALLY got these dudes to the hospital! Gray will FINALLY get the help he needs (and unfortunately lose a foot in the process). I toyed with the idea of letting him keep the damaged limb and have it not function properly...but that didn't feel very realistic. I highly doubt any trained doctor during that time period would look at a black, gangrened limb and say 'Meh, it's all good, he can keep it' XD**

 **Besides, it gives me an excuse to let him lay in bed for a while and have Clarina play nurse (Which I don't think he'll complain about too much lol)**

 **We also got to see Uncas come through in this chapter! I always have a hard time deciding when and how he's going to make an appearance. I mean, he's pretty chill in general so I don't think he feels the need to burst his way out of Caleb's skull that often. There are levels to how much each person comes through, anyway.**

 **Magua obviously comes through the strongest, having taken full control of Bran, but Alice only manages to makes her way out from time to time and that is only when her chain is yanked (Usually by, or because of, proximity to Uncas). Uncas has been more complicated in that department. Out of all of them, he's the only one who seems to have more or less settled into his host. I feel like he only acts separate from Caleb when 1)Alice/Lyric is threatened or 2) something specific manages to yank his chain (I.E. the first meeting and kiss). I'm going to get more into the whole chain yanking thing as we go forward but I have to decide how things are going to play out first.**

 **There is going to be a rather big moment of it coming up soon and I need to decide how to navigate that. I think I mentioned this last chapter but I've been trying to decide how best to deal with the sex bits in this story. Originally, Caleb and Lyric weren't going to get up to much until towards the end because so much of the story was ' GO GO GO'. Now they have the time and opportunity for it but I don't see them rushing into it simply because of what happened in the woods.** **I feel like they would think they were sharing the experience with Uncas and Alice and both of them would feel really weird about that.**

 **The PROBLEM, though, is that I can't keep their hands off each other so I'm left with deciding how to handle it.** **I mean, this is a history piece and I really don't think people during the Civil War were sticking their faces in each others junk but I'm going to have to give these two SOMETHING or they're going to stop talking to me and derail the narrative. XD**

 **Anyway, _ahem_ , moving on to music (and away from my woes with the characters sex lives)...I only have one piece of music for this chapter. It's called The Maze by Manchester Orchestra. I chose it because its a slow little song that I can imagine playing while Caleb is watching Lyric sleep in the wagon. I almost chose We Grow by Elmo but I think I'm going to save it for another chapter. **

**Fun fact; The Maze was _almost_ Gray's theme for Clarina. If I'm honest though, I don't have a lot songs that make me thing of him. I mean, I like his character but I don't spend a lot of time in his head. I used to have a few songs on the playlist that were for him but i ended up removing them, same with for Saul. I try to make my playlists tell a story when and where I can and their songs just weren't doing it.**

 **Ok, I think I've covered the bases for what I wanted to talk about this chapter. I noticed a lot of you were surprised in the previous chapter when Alice appeared in the river. To me, that was kinda funny because I've _always_ known it was going to play out that way. Then I went back and read my earlier chapters and was like, 'Ok, yeah, I mean I kinda showed _some_ bits that foreshadowed that but I didn't go super ham on it either'. So I can see where it would be surprising to everyone else. Up to this point, all we've had is Lyric's assumption (and the Voodoo woman's advice) that if she finds Caleb, everything will be fine. Finding Caleb is only one small part of the whole thing, folks...there's more going down than just Alice and Uncas achieving a closer proximity to one another...but more on that as we go forward!**

 **Thanks again for the reads and reviews! Hopefully, I won't have another month of random sickness and depression to contend with and derail my progress. I've done okay for this week so here's hoping! Next chapter is another Clarina POV and it should be an interesting one. Again, thanks for reading and I will see you all next time!**

 **Bye! *Waves***


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